


If Ever There was Love in the World

by LightFromTheShadow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Boys In Love, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Smut, Ghosts, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, The Fates - Freeform, Vampires, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightFromTheShadow/pseuds/LightFromTheShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew, Alfred and Gilbert get stuck out in the middle of Nevada in an abandoned town that they can't escape from. There they meet two warlocks who babble on about curses, barriers and Fates. The three men try and get out of the town while at the same time interacting with the individuals in the town. Soon not only their futures but their hearts at stake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Arriving

**Prologue: Arriving**

"You have to be fucking kidding me."

The three young men sat motionless in the old 2008 Corolla, staring out at the flat landscape that was no longer rushing past them.

Slowly, the man in the passenger seat opened the door and stepped out of the car. He examined the front right wheel of the little car while the other two looked at him worriedly.

"Well, Matt?" The one who had sworn, sitting in the driver's seat, called. Matthew Williams glanced up at them, his violet-blue eyes serious behind his glasses as he shook his head.

"Flat," he stated. The driver groaned and pounded his head against the steering wheel.

"How could you be so stupid, Alfred?" Asked the man sitting in the back seat. "Who gets a flat tire in the middle of nowhere?"

"Shut up, Gilbert," Alfred F. Jones shot back, his blue eyes tired. "Obviously I didn't choose to get one right here." Alfred glanced out the car door. "Mattie, can you call…?" But Matthew was shaking his head already, tucking his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

"No signal."

"That's brilliant!" Gilbert Beilschmidt laughed. "All because Alfred had the great idea of using our summer vacation to go look at mountains in the middle of nowhere."

"We were lost anyways," said Matthew quietly, leaning against the open car door. "Any suggestions?" Alfred sighed despondently and stared out the front window.

"I know we're in Nevada…" he muttered, glancing at the GPS, although it hadn't been receiving signal for the past two hours. Meanwhile Gilbert got out of the car and stretched out his toned arms, looking out over the flat desert-like landscape. He could see mountains out in the distance, toward the west, where they had been heading on the cracking, paved road. He brushed his hand through his shock of white hair, his red eyes narrowing against the high noon sunlight as he noticed something in the distance.  _What is that…?_

"Hey, Birdie," Gilbert said, nudging Matthew's shoulder. "Look there. Doesn't that look like buildings out in the distance?" Matthew followed Gilbert's finger westwards. He saw the far away mountains and blue sky and that was it – wait, no, there  _were_ buildings. A really small town maybe? Matthew smiled hopefully.

"Hey Alfred, it looks like there's a town out there, eh?"

"Huh?" Alfred cried, his blue eyes flashing in excitement. He bounded from the car and stared westwards until he could see the town too. "How did we not notice that before?" He laughed then, and turned to his friends, a broad grin on his face. "See? This is what you get for doubting Alfred F. Jones." Gilbert groaned.

"Stuff it Jones. Let's just go."

"Should we all be going?" Matthew asked worriedly. "Shouldn't someone stay with the car?" Gilbert snorted.

"It's broken down and crappy," he said reassuringly. "No one will want it. Besides, does it look like anyone else is around here?" Matthew cracked a small smile.

So the three of them began walking along the road towards the town that had appeared out of nowhere to save them.

xXx

The three boys had a rather odd friendship.

Matthew was a Canadian, having lived in Montreal for most of his life before moving to Toronto to attend the University of Toronto. Alfred was American, born and raised in Ohio and was currently attending Ohio State. Gilbert was German, though he told everyone he was Prussian – something about one of his ancestors being a Prussian general years ago – and he was studying music at the Juilliard School in New York City.

The three of them had become acquainted in the summer of the eighth grade where they had attended an international summer camp in America for promising and gifted students. They had formed a fast and easy friendship, though Gilbert and Alfred did frequently antagonize each other with Matthew acting as the reluctant mediator. After the camp had ended, they exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and kept in contact over the next two years. Gilbert moved to America in grade eleven so then the three of them met up often on holidays. They attended each other's high school graduations and met all throughout university, balancing work, school and life in order to maintain the friendship that they had created.

Then, in the summer before their last year of university, the now twenty-two-years-old Alfred came up with the seemingly brilliant idea of going on a month-long road trip across his United States. He wanted to show Gilbert and Matthew the vast expanse of his country and they planned to make it all the way to the Pacific Ocean on the coast of California.

And then technology had failed them about halfway into Nevada. Alfred insisted that they weren't lost and he continued straight on the road they had been on when the GPS conked out, saying that if they kept going westwards, they would eventually reach where they were going. Matthew and Gilbert knew it was pointless to try and argue so they didn't say anything, keeping their mouths shut as the four-lane highway dwindled down to two lanes and then barely one lane, the last sign of civilization being a rundown gas station sixty miles behind them.

Then there had come a loud bang and the car had come to a stop, refusing to drive properly. Now the three of them were walking along a deserted road, approaching a small collection of roads and buildings not too far away that had almost seemed to spring up out of thin air.

Alfred examined what he could see of the town as they walked towards it. There looked to be only one real street that went straight through the town, continuing out westwards to the mountains beyond. The street resembled any main street in the downtown portion of any small village back east, but this one was a lot less cozy. Two story shops lined the road on either side but most of them appeared to be empty and deserted, their windows boarded up. The bushes and flowers that were planted in the divider in the middle of the street were all dried up and brown. Though the day was sunny, the town seemed to absorb and extinguish all the light and colour of the world. Alfred suppressed a shiver, glancing at his two friends who were walking beside him. He felt he had to put on a brash, confident front for them.

They stopped at the edge of where the buildings started, staring at an old brown signpost at the side of the road.  _Welcome to Dis_ it read.

"Diss?" Alfred laughed, nudging Gilbert's arm. "As in the yo' mama jokes?"

"Actually," Matthew interrupted quietly, "Dis was a city in Hell in Dante's  _Divine Comedy."_ Alfred chuckled awkwardly.

"You literature majors…"

Gilbert rolled his red eyes and led the way into the town. However, as soon as all three of them stepped past the sign, there was a loud bang that stopped them in their tracks. A puff of smoke appeared a few metres ahead of them and suddenly two men appeared before them out of thin air.

Alfred yelped and jumped back. "What the – "

"Damn it Feliciano!" The man on the left cried out angrily. "I told you to tell me whenever you're going to teleport."

The man on the right looked properly chastised. "Ve, sorry Lovino," he said, his green eyes worried. "Are you okay?" Gilbert realized that both men were speaking with Italian accents and that they looked very similar to one another.  _Twins._

"Who the hell are you two?" He growled, stepping forwards, hoping his answer would shield his shock. "What was that smoke just now?"

Both men looked at him and his companions. The grumpy one, Lovino, scowled even more. "We should be the ones asking you that. How the hell did you get past our barriers?"

"Barriers?" Matthew asked quietly, peeking from around Gilbert. "What barriers?"

"Ve, Lovi, I think they are humans. Don't scare them! They're just like how Ludwig was when he showed up two years ago," said the other twin, the mild mannered one, Feliciano. He blinked at the three men with wide green eyes, a small smile on his face. "We are Feliciano and Lovino Vargas," he said kindly. "We are the warlocks that maintain the barrier around Dis. No one is allowed to enter or leave it as it is isolated from the outside world. Humans will walk past it, never knowing about its existence. This has been true for the past twenty years since it was created, only having been broken once two years ago."

"You guys are…magicians?" Alfred asked, frowning suspiciously, stepping up beside Gilbert, his bravery back.

"Warlocks, American," Lovino growled. "There is a difference."

Gilbert cleared his throat. "Okay then, we shall just go, if that's okay." He began walking backwards, motioning for Alfred and Mattie to follow him. Suddenly, it was as if his back had hit one of those invisible electrical fences. He felt the shock throughout his body as he was thrown forwards about ten feet, landing on his stomach with a gasp.

"Gil!" Matthew cried, rushing to his friend. Gilbert's shirt was a bit singed, but he was otherwise unhurt.

"You won't be able to leave," Feliciano said, almost apologetically. "Once you come in, which is strange enough as it is, it is impossible to leave until the Fates allow us to lower the barrier."

"What the hell?" Alfred cried. "We can't stay in this ghost town with you nutters. We have to find a phone and call a tow truck."

Lovino smiled grimly. "We do not have phone service here," he said. "We have no need of it."

"What are we supposed to do then?" Matthew asked, helping Gilbert to his feet. The Prussian looked rather pale.

Feliciano shrugged. "You can't leave until the curse is reversed," he said. "Ve, go see Francis at the hotel over there." He pointed vaguely down the street. "He will have to give you guys rooms."

"We can't stay here!" Alfred cried. But the twins were already walking away.

"Ve, do you think they're the ones Lovi?"

"Maybe. I just hope they don't die."

"I'll be glad when we can leave, ve…"

There was another bang and the two of them disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Silence.

"What the fuck just happened?" Gilbert muttered, rolling his shoulders a little bit, making sure that he wasn't too badly damaged.

"Magic…" Matthew muttered, almost to himself.

"Bullshit," Alfred insisted. "We have to get out of here."

"You saw what just happened to me," Gilbert pointed out. "If you wanna go ahead and try, be my guest."

"Why don't we go see this Francis _,"_ Matthew suggested quietly, looking at his two friends who were now starting to glare at each other. "Maybe he can answer our questions?"

Alfred and Gilbert looked at their friend who was staring back at them with calm violet eyes. Alfred groaned.

"I'm gonna regret this."

"Remember that this was all because of your brilliant idea," Gilbert pointed out, slinging his arm around Matthew's shoulder. "Come on Birdie."

Alfred followed behind them, grumbling petulantly about crazy Italians and stupid American ghost towns. They walked down the deserted street, their footsteps resounding in the silence.

**Lemme know what you guys think? :)**


	2. Part 1: Crashing, Chapter 1

Chapter 1:  _La Vie en Rose,_ Part 1

Matthew and his friends approached the front of the 'hotel' that the twin warlocks ( _warlocks?!)_ had pointed out to them. In reality, Matthew thought, it looked more like boarding house. It was a relatively normal, though large, three story house, set back a little bit from the sidewalk on the main street. A white, wooden sign proclaimed that the establishment was called  _La Nouvelle Versailles_ in black cursive. A white veranda covered the front of the house with a blue front door. The trimmings were all blue, the siding white. A beautiful red rose garden took up most of the front yard, the well-tended flowers a startling contrast with the dead vegetation on the streets.

The three of them walked up the porch steps and Matthew couldn't help but notice that though the rose garden was well-tended, the rest of the house was not. The white paint was chipping and faded, the brass doorknob and knocker were tarnished on the front door whose blue paint was also chipped and scratched.

Matthew tentatively raised his hand to grasp the knocker but Alfred stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Let me, Mattie," he said, his blue eyes serious. He stepped past Matthew and banged on the door with his fist, pushing Matthew behind him. Matthew stifled a sigh. He was used to being treated like delicate china by both Alfred and Gil.  _They're so overprotective,_ he thought wryly, glancing at the serious expressions on his friends' faces.

There came a clicking of lock and the blue door swung slowly open. Matthew stuck his head around Alfred's broad shoulders, trying to see past their physical wall. Staring back at them in surprise was the most handsome man Matthew had ever seen.

He was tall and lean, with silky blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes were a clear sky blue, with a bit of light stubble on his well-defined chin. He was casually dressed in jeans and a dress shirt but he managed to wear it as if he had just walked off of a runway. But one of the most striking thing about him was the extreme paleness of his white, marble-like skin.

The man was evidently very surprised to see the trio but Mattie watched in admiration as his surprise melted away into a very charming smile.

" _Bienvenue, messieurs!"_ He cried, stepping back and throwing open the door. " _Entrez, s'il vous plait!"_ Alfred glanced back at Matthew with a frown.

"He wants us to go in," Matthew translated, excited to hear his other national language. The man was Parisian if the accent was anything to go by.

The three of them entered the house with Matthew bringing up the rear. As he walked past the Frenchman who was standing by the door waiting to close it, he glanced up at him swiftly. Their gazes met and Matthew felt himself blush at the jolt that went through him when he looked into the pools of blue. The other man looked back at him, his soft smile growing wider, his gaze sweeping up and down Matthew's body, making Matthew look away in embarrassment.

He stepped onto thick Persian carpeting. The front foyer of the home actually did rather resemble a hotel. A desk was along the far wall, mounted shelves with compartments for keys was behind it on the wall with a staircase winding upstairs beside it. Matthew heard the door close and the Frenchman come to stand right behind him.

" _Alors,"_ he said in his low and naturally sultry voice, "what are you all doing here?" Matthew turned around to face him, but again found himself speechless as the man stared at him with the small smile still on his face.

"I'm Alfred F Jones," Alfred said from behind Matthew. "This is Gilbert Beilschmidt and Matthew Williams. Our car broke down a little ways a way and now…Hey!"

The Frenchman was no longer listening.  _"Enchanté, Mathieu,"_ he whispered, taking Matthew's hand in his and pressing a kiss to it, making Mattie's violet eyes go wide. "I am Francis Bonnefoy."  _His hands are cold…_

Gilbert growled from behind him. "Oi! We need your help, man." Francis frowned and glanced up again.

"Of course," he said, nodding and letting Matthew's hand go. "Your car broke down, you were able to see this town in the distance so you made for it. Getting here, you passed by the sign and poof! Two adorable Italian warlocks appeared in front of you, telling you that you cannot leave, which I am afraid is the case. They told you to come talk to me about rooms, which I can provide free of charge as you are our only visitors and here we have no need of money."

Matthew stared up at Francis in shock. "How did you know?" He asked in his quiet voice.

Francis looked down at him and smiled, his blue eyes softening. "How else could strangers arrive here?"

"We can't leave?" Gilbert asked.

"Not until the barrier comes down. And I do not know when that will be."

"The twins mentioned some kind of curse…" Alfred queried. But Francis shook his head, his blue eyes turning to ice.

"It cannot be broken," he said gruffly, his accent getting heavier. He walked past the others to retrieve their keys from behind the desk. Matthew watched him walk past before he moved to glance into the open doorway to their left. It seemed to be a living room, with sofas arranged around a table, an empty fireplace on the far wall and big picture windows along the other. However, the curtains on these windows were drawn, white sheets thrown over the sofas to keep off the dust. It didn't look as if it was used at all.

Then Matthew tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. He thought he heard music. He crossed the front foyer to the doorway on the right which opened into a small dining room with another door at the far end that probably led to a kitchen. The table was set with plates and silverware, fresh roses sat in the middle of the table in a beautiful vase. Matthew turned his attention to one of those old gramophones that was sitting in a corner on a small table. He slowly walked towards it, smiling a bit when he recognized the tune.

" _La Vie en Rose,"_ he whispered to himself. It was almost comforting to hear the familiar song sung by Edith Piaf. " _Quand il me prend dans ses bras, Il me parle l'a tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose."_

"You're French?" Matthew jumped at Francis' voice sounding behind him. He blushed as he realized that he had been singing softly to himself out loud.

"Yes, I'm Canadian," he quietly said, looking down at his feet. Suddenly he felt a cold finger hook under his chin and lift it up so he was now staring at Francis' blue eyes.

"You shouldn't hide the enchanting colour of your eyes," he murmured, locking eyes with the Canadian, refusing to drop his gaze. Matthew was powerless. He felt his knees begin to wobble.

"Mattie!" Alfred's call broke the moment, Francis' hand dropping his chin. He stepped back to allow Matthew to hurry past, though Mattie felt his eyes boring a hole into his back. He took a deep breath, hoping the blush was gone from his cheeks as he walked up to Alfred and Gilbert who were talking at the bottom of the stairs.

They looked up as he approached. "Here Mattie," said Alfred, tossing him a set of keys. "Francis is giving us each a room of our own." Matthew glanced down at his key.  _202._ "He also said that we'd find clothes in our dressers, apparently, and that dinner would be served at seven."

"The French," Gilbert said gravely, though amusement sparkled behind his red eyes. "They think they always have everything under control." Matthew shook his head as he stepped past his friends and led them up the stairs.

"I'll see you guys in a bit _,_ " he said, stopping in front of his room in the carpeted hallway. Alfred was in 203, across from Matthew and Gil was in 205, beside Alfred. They nodded.

"There's some weird shit going on here," Alfred said seriously, his voice low, glancing down the hallway as if expecting a spectre was listening. "Don't let your guard down guys."

"I'm still half-inclined to believe that I'm high," Gilbert said, chuckling darkly as he entered his room. Matthew smiled to himself as he went into his own room.

It was small but quaint, with a small twin bed in the middle, a little dresser and deck along one wall and a small bathroom in the corner by the door. The first thing Matthew did was check his dresser. He opened it up and pulled out the first article of clothing he could find. He then dropped it in shock and fright. It was his favourite maple leaf hoodie, which, as far as he knew, he had left behind in Toronto.

_Magic…?_

xXx

After a simple dinner of warm stew and delicious French pastries that Francis said was a very old family recipe, Matthew spent a rather comfortable night in his room. He turned in early, exhausted from the day's events, too tired even to think about how he was in reality a sort of prisoner.

He woke at six-thirty in the morning, according to the old-fashioned analog clock on the wall. He showered and threw on a pair of blue jeans and his maple leaf hoodie. He sniffed it as he pulled it over his head. Yes, there was that unmistakeable scent of maple. Matthew suppressed a shiver.

He poked his head out into the quiet hallway. He was sure Alfred and Gilbert were still sleeping. They were horribly lazy and loved sleeping in. He crept down the staircase, running his hand along the smooth, wooden bannister. He walked into the dining room and opened up the brocade curtains covering the large windows. Early morning sunlight streamed in, lighting up the room cheerily.

Matthew then entered the still dark kitchen, switching on the light. A smile came to his face as he took in the beautiful granite countertops, the top of the line oven, stove and refrigerator. He loved to cook and bake and he felt his hands itching to make something.  _Maybe I'll make pancakes for everyone,_ he thought to himself, nodding in satisfaction. Looking across the room, he noticed a door tucked into the corner beside the fridge. He slowly cracked it open and stared down at steps leading down into the dark.  _The cellar probably,_ he reasoned, reminding himself to come back later and take a look down there to see what there was.

He closed the door and proceeded to make himself familiar with the layout of the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards, checking where the plates and the silverware were, the pots and pans and ladles. He also checked to make sure he had all the ingredients necessary for making pancakes available. He quickly gathered pancake mix from a cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge and a frying pan from a drawer. Half an hour later, he was standing over the stove, humming to himself and frying pancakes, plopping the golden brown circles onto a plate he had ready beside the stove.

As he cooked, he finally turned his thoughts to the occurrences of the past day. Matthew, majoring in French literature in Toronto, was a romantic. He liked to believe in the fantastic and the unexpected. However this was all a little bit over his head. Those Vargas twins for example: they had appeared before them out of nowhere in a puff of smoke. That in itself spoke volumes to the possibility that magic existed. Gil couldn't get past the barrier, which proved that there really was one there, keeping them separate from the world. What had the warlocks said? 'Usually humans are able to walk right past us without knowing we're here'? Then why were he and his friends able to see this town and get inside? Was there someone larger than them pulling at the strings? Were they just toying with them?

So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that he didn't notice the sound of the front door opening and closing again, or the scrape of boots on the front mat, or the footsteps of someone walking through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Not until said person cleared their throat loudly did Matthew jump and spin around. "O-Oh! Francis!" Matthew exclaimed, a blush covering his face. The Frenchman stared back at him with a ghost of a smile on his face, his eyes inquisitive.

"I-I was just making breakfast for everyone…" He explained, staring down at the blue apron he had found and tied around himself. Francis' expression relaxed and he walked towards Matthew, stopping on the other side of the counter.

"Do you always get up so early  _mon cheri?"_ The name of endearment made Matthew's face flush even redder. He nodded.

"Always," was his quiet reply. "And you?" He asked, raising his violet-blue eyes timidly.

Francis smiled. "I like to tend to my rose garden when the sun first rises," he explains.

"So early every day," Matthew said in admiration, looking at Francis' put-togetherness and neatness so early in the morning. It wasn't even seven-thirty and he already looked like Apollo. Francis just laughed.

"You're pancakes shall burn  _mon cheri,_ " he pointed out, pointing to the pan. Matthew turned back around and flipped the pancake onto the waiting pile.

"I hope you don't mind me doing this," he said apologetically, pouring more batter into the frying pan, causing it to sizzle. "I love pancakes and I wanted to pay for our room and board somehow." Over the sizzle of the batter, he heard Francis chuckle.

"Of course I don't mind," he said, his voice coming closer behind Matthew. Suddenly Mattie felt a tug on his apron strings. "You look fetching in an apron,  _ma petite femme."_ Matthew felt his heart skip a beat and his cheeks flush.

He nervously shifted, clearing his throat and glancing behind him. Francis was standing so close that his front was almost touching his back. "I hope you'll allow me to help you clean the rest of the house," he said, his tone a little shaky at Francis' close proximity. "I'll get Gil and Alfred to help as well."

Francis' blue eyes were warm as he smiled at the younger man. He reached out a finger to wipe off some batter that had gotten on Matthew's cheek. Matthew shivered at the touch, not sure if it was because it was Francis or because his finger was so cold. "Treat this as your own house Mathieu," he murmured in Matthew's ear, his breath tickling him. Matthew nodded slowly, turning his head back around.

"Breakfast will be ready in another fifteen minutes," he said in his quiet voice. But Francis was already gone.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Alors - So  
> Mon cheri - my dear  
> Ma Petite Femme - My little wife  
> Quand il me prend dans ses bras, Il me parle l'a tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose - When he takes me in his arms, he speak to me softly, I see life through 'rose-coloured glasses' (As Sabrina would say XD)
> 
> La Vie en Rose is a famous french song by Edith Piaf. Go listen to it!


	3. Part 1: Crashing, Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Tameable Beast, Part 1

Alfred leaned back in the dining room chair and groaned, patting his stomach. "Mattie, that was amazing," he said for the hundredth time as Matthew proceeded to clean up the breakfast plates. It was already nine-thirty and he and Gilbert had come downstairs to find Matthew bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with a stack of pancakes waiting for them.

"Thanks," Matthew said with a smile, heading into the kitchen to do the dishes. Gilbert pushed himself back from the table. "Where are you off to?" Alfred asked.

Gilbert shrugged. "Thought I'd look around town for a little bit, see if I can find a way out of here maybe." Alfred looked at him narrowly.

"Sure you're not going to go look for a music store?" Gilbert grinned and, winking, walked out of the room and out the front door. Matthew returned to the dining room to see Alfred alone.

"Where's Gil?" He asked.

Alfred smirked. "If he finds a music store we won't be seeing him for the rest of the day." Mattie sighed.

"I was going to get us all to help Francis out in cleaning up the house," he said quietly. "If we are going to be living here, we should make it liveable for everyone." Alfred smiled at Matthew's annoyed expression.

"Don't worry Mattie," Alfred exclaimed, grinning and getting to his feet. "I'll be your hero and help you." Matthew's violet-blue eyes brightened.

"Great!" He led the way out of dining room into the foyer where he pointed to the ceiling. "Half of the lights up there are out," he said, motioning to the beautiful chandelier that hung over the floor. Alfred looked up at it and frowned a bit.

"I'll need a ladder…"

"There is one in the back shed." Alfred looked to the stairs to see Francis slowly walk down. He hadn't seen the Frenchman at breakfast, though he didn't really look as if he had just woken up.

"I saved pancakes for you Francis if you're hungry," Matthew said, blushing a bit, sounding for all the world like a nervous housewife. Alfred rolled his eyes as he thanked Francis and walked out the door into the warm summer morning. He walked past the rose garden which heavily perfumed the air, and around the side of the house and into a backyard with a relatively green lawn and a small fountain in the middle. In the corner was a small, blue toolshed which Alfred opened. It was full of mostly gardening tools and a lawn mower but he found a nice big ladder tucked away in the back.

He carried it back around to the front of the house and up the veranda steps.  _It's going to be a hot one,_ he thought as he stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. Matthew and Francis were gone from the foyer, which was just as well as he needed all the room he could take.

He flipped on the switch and memorized which bulbs needed changing, deciding to take the dead ones off first before putting in new ones. He slowly climbed the ladder and began to mechanically unscrew the bulbs from the huge chandelier, letting his mind wander.

He didn't trust Francis. He was too suave, too friendly, too perfect. In fact, this whole town, this whole situation was insane. Sure, he loved science fiction and fantasy movies as much as the next American, but that was why it was  _fiction._ That magic act yesterday with those weird twins, that barrier that almost burnt Gil to a crisp, his favourite Captain America boxers showing up in the dresser in his room…that stuff was just creepy.

 _Magic…_ He thought to himself, an amused smile crossing his attractive face. He put the old bulb in a small bucket he had brought from the toolshed as well. He reached for the next one.

It was obvious that they were somehow trapped here, but how? By whom? The twin warlocks had mentioned something about the Fates…like the 3 Fates from mythology? No, that was weird. Those guys had shown up in the Percy Jackson series. It had nothing to do with real life. And yet there was a really eerie atmosphere about the empty town. Even Francis had a strange, otherworldly aura about him, although if Matthew's blushes were anything to go by, the boy was falling for it. He dropped the next one into the bucket beside the first one. He stepped up to a higher step on the ladder, stretching to reach the next one.

One thing was for sure, he had to find a way to get the three of them home. He supposed it was okay to stay here for a month, as that was how long they were planning to be gone anyways, but after that they had to go back to their old lives. There had to be a way to get out of here.  _Once I'm done helping Mattie I'll go find Gilbert,_ Alfred thought to himself.  _Then we'll go find those Vargas twins maybe and force them to tell us how to get out of here. Or maybe Francis –_

Suddenly the ladder began to wobble. Alfred gasped, clutching to the ladder with his hands, desperately trying to steady it, but it was no good. With a cry he fell backwards, tumbling off of the ladder although he still had the presence of mind to push it away from him so it wouldn't fall on top of him.

He landed on his side with a bang. Stars danced before his eyes as he felt himself land strangely on his elbow and he felt a searing pain in his ribs.

"Ah, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit," he groaned, pain washing over him. Rapid footsteps from the kitchen signalled the arrival of Matthew.

"Oh my god, Alfred!" He cried, dropping to his knees beside his friend. "Francis! Francis!" Francis ran down the stairs.

"Mathieu? Are you – "He regarded the American lying on the ground. "Oh." He said, frowning and looking down on him. "I guess you didn't know that there is a way to lower the chandelier down to the ground for changing the bulbs?" Alfred growled, curling into a ball, holding his elbow to his chest.

"I'm gonna kill you…"

"Francis, tell me there's a doctor here," Matthew said, looking up at the Frenchman frantically. Francis sighed and began to help Alfred to his feet. He felt as if his side was on fire and the slightest movement of his elbow made him want to scream in pain.

"I suppose we'll just go to Doctor Kirkland down the street," he said simply, holding onto Alfred's waist, helping the American to throw an arm over his shoulder. Matthew opened the door for the two of them as they made their way out the door and down the steps. Matthew paced nervously behind them, asking if Alfred was okay every thirty seconds to which Alfred replied in pained grunts.

The fifty metres down the street felt like a thousand to Alfred who was actively telling his brain to take deep breaths and to not freak out. Francis finally stopped the in front of a two story building with a large picture window on the bottom floor and smaller windows on the top floor, which was probably where the doctor lived. Matthew threw open the door underneath a sign that read: DOCTOR ARTHUR KIRKLAND, MD. A tinkle of chimes announced their arrival as the two men stumbled into the rather normal-looking medical waiting room.

"Arthur!" Francis called, leading Alfred to a seat beside the desk where the secretary was supposed to be. "Arthur!"

"For Pete's sake, Francis," came an annoyed voice with a strong British accent from a hallway that probably led to the examination rooms. "I told you, Ivan said tomorrow…" The voice trailed off as the doctor entered the room. He took a look at Alfred slumped over in his chair and he walked briskly to his side, kneeling before him.

He gingerly took his elbow from where he had it protected against his chest and gently ran his fingers along it, probing it in some places, making Alfred suck in his breath in pain.

"It hurts when I do this?" He asked, bending his forearm up towards his chest. Alfred nodded as a streak of pain made sweat break out on his forehead. Alfred felt darkness begin to close in at the corners of his vision.  _NO! I can't black out!_ He focused on the doctor that was gently touching him.

He looked to be only a few years older than he was. He had a head of trimmed, sandy blonde hair and emerald green eyes that were, at the moment, critically examining the rest of his arm. He was lean but he didn't look very tall, though his shoulders were broad. He had rather large eyebrows but they were somehow endearing on his smallish face. In his weak state, Alfred all of a sudden had the urge to reach out and hug him.

That saved him from the momentary danger of passing out. He felt a hot flush cover his cheeks as he looked away. The movement caused his ribs to twinge and he sucked in his breath.

"Your ribs?" The doctor asked. Alfred nodded. "You better come with me to the examining room," he said briskly, helping Alfred to his feet.

"Do you want me to come, Alfred?" Matthew asked. Alfred shook his head, giving his friend a pained smile.

"I'll be okay, Matt," he said, hiding a grimace. "You and Francis can go on back. I don't think it's too serious." Matthew looked at the doctor for confirmation.

Doctor Kirkland narrowed his eyes at his patient before nodding to Mattie and Francis. "Looks like he cracked his elbow and a few ribs. It isn't serious. He'll be fine."

" _Allons-y,_ Mathieu," Alfred heard Francis say.

"Watch yourself, Frenchie," Alfred called weakly behind him. He heard the English doctor that was holding him stifle a snort. Another tinkle of the chimes and they were gone.

The doctor led him down a narrow carpeted hallway into the first room on the right. He helped Alfred into a sitting position on the examining table. "Take off your shirt," he said, stepping away.

Alfred chuckled dryly, hooking his thumbs under his shirt. "So soon doc? We just met." The doctor frowned at him though Alfred saw the faintest blush tinge his cheeks.

"Very funny, Mr…"

"Alfred F Jones," Alfred supplied, starting to pull his shirt over his head. However, as he couldn't bend his arm properly, he made a rather big mess of it. "Um…doc?" He asked awkwardly, his one good elbow stuck in the sleeve of shirt.

Doctor Kirkland sighed and stepped forward, gently but quickly stripping Alfred of his shirt. Alfred suppressed a shiver as the doctor's professional hands lightly passed over his bare skin.

Now de-shirted, the doctor prodded his elbow one more time. "It's a simple non-displaced fracture in your elbow," he said. "I'll put it in a sling for a week or so to limit movement and it will be as good as new." His practiced hands moved down to pass over Alfred's toned chest. In addition to studying to becoming a lawyer, he also played intramural football at his university so he was very well-built. Doctor Kirkland didn't seem very phased however, and proceeded to poke Alfred right where it hurts.

"Looks like two cracked ribs," he said with a nod. "I'll give you some painkillers. Just take it easy for a week or two, Mr. Jones."

"Alfred," he corrected, smiling at the doctor who turned away and wrote something on a sheet of paper at the counter. "Arthur," he mumbled quietly. Alfred smiled to himself. Arthur turned back around, a sling in his hands.

He helped Alfred put his shirt back on and showed him how to put on his sling with one hand. He handed Alfred the piece of paper he had been writing on. "Here's your prescription for the pain meds," he said. Alfred looked at the name of the pharmacy.

"It's a convenience store…?" He asked dubiously. The paper read Town of Dis Convenience and Pharmacy. Kind of a sketchy title. Arthur shrugged.

"It's the closest you'll find here," he said simply, looking at Alfred curiously. "So your car broke down yesterday?" Alfred nodded, surprised that the word had gotten around. Then he remembered Francis saying that there were no strangers in this town.  _How many people are there here?_ He wondered.

"How did you get stuck in here too? Your car break down?" He asked. He knew Arthur heard his question but it seemed he chose to ignore the question.

"There were three of you?" Alfred nodded, choosing to let the question slide instead of pressing it. "Yes, me and my two best friends. We were on our way westwards."

"Hmph," Arthur snorted. "Bloody Americans always getting lost. They have no sense of direction." Alfred frowned.

"Hey!" He cried indignantly. "The other two are German and Canadian."

Arthur gave Alfred a keen green gaze. "I'll assume it was you that was driving then." Alfred opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish, his cheeks flushing red. Arthur burst out laughing then, his green eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. Alfred pouted a bit before cracking a small smile and sliding off of the examining table, tucking his prescription into his pocket. Arthur led him back through the hallway into the empty waiting room.

"I'll assume you don't get many patients," Alfred noted, looking out the window at the empty street. Arthur shook his head slowly.

"No one here needs a doctor," he muttered, a frown crossing his lips. Alfred watched him, fascinated with the grumpy but caring doctor.  _He must get lonely, alone in here all day. I wonder how often that pervert Frenchman visits him…_ That thought filled Alfred with unexpected anger.

"Can I visit you tomorrow?" Alfred blurted out, his face flushing as he said the words. Arthur turned to him in surprise.

"You don't need to come back for a check-up for another week."

Alfred shook his head. "No, I mean  _visit_ you…" He trailed off lamely, his blue eyes darting away. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Sure," he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "But only for a little while. I  _do_ have work to do." Alfred brought his eyes back to the British man's green ones, a grin splitting his face.

"Really?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I said so didn't I?" He proceeded to usher Alfred out onto the street. "Now go and get this medicine at the store across the street." He pointed to the small, dilapidated building twenty metres away.

"Right," Alfred said, smiling at the Brit and walking away, a small spring in his steps. "See you tomorrow Arthur!" He called over his shoulder.

"Bloody Yank," he heard Arthur mutter behind his back and he felt a happy smile cross his face. Maybe this temporary vacation wouldn't be so bad after all.


	4. Part 1: Crashing, Chapter 3

Chapter 3:  _ Salut d'Amour,  _ Part 1

Gilbert slowly walked down the main street of Dis, the morning sun already beating on his back. He kind of wished he hadn't dressed in a grey t-shirt, black skinny jeans and converse now. A tank top, khaki shorts and flip-flops would be more practical.

He stretched out his arms, flexing his prominent muscles. His fingers were trembling, itching really, wanting to have a violin in their grasp.

Gilbert was on a scholarship to the prestigious Juilliard School in New York for music, majoring on the violin. He loved to play and he was very good at it. His dream was to become a famous soloist, being able to travel all over the world and share his talent and love of music with everyone. Alfred and Birdie had insisted that he leave his baby home on their trip and he had reluctantly agreed, believing that he would have no need of it and no time to play it anyways.

But now here they were, stuck in the middle of lord knows where and, no matter how un-awesome it sounded, Gilbert was agitated. And when he was nervous he wanted, no  _needed,_ to play something. That proves how well Alfred knew him, knowing that he would run for an instrument for comfort.

"Is there any sort of music shop in this dodgy hell-hole?" Gilbert muttered to himself, his eyes sweeping across the signs of the shops on either side of the street. A doctor's office, a sketchy convenience store and pharmacy (what?)…was that all there was? Surely there was something else that was open.  _This is so creepy…_

Suddenly he saw it. A police station. The albino's red eyes lit up as he jogged over to the small white building and pushed open the door, basking in the coolness of the air conditioning. He narrowed his eyes to adjust to the suddenly dimmer room and he spotted an actual police officer sitting behind the counter alongside a wall.

"Oh thank goodness!" Gilbert cried, putting his hands on the desk and leaning forwards, looking the policeman in the face. He was a big dude, with slicked back blonde hair and light blue eyes. "Tell me, how can we get out of here? There is a way, right? You're human too? This place is so weird…" The man's blonde eyebrows raised up in surprise.

"Kiku!" He called over his shoulder through an open doorway that led to probably a few small holding cells. Turning back to Gilbert, he scrutinized him curiously. "You're the ones that arrived here yesterday, ja?" Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise at his thick accent.

"You're German? Even better! You can help us right?"

"Feliciano mentioned you…" The officer muttered to himself. "Kiku!" He called again.

"Feliciano…oh, you mean that Italian warlock guy? He was a cutie." The policeman frowned at him, his blue eyes narrowing.

"To answer your questions," he said curtly. "No, no and yes. Before you three arrived yesterday, I was the only one to arrive here after the town was established and the barrier raised. Kiku!"

"Oh, you're Ludwig? Feliciano mentioned you yesterday."

Suddenly, a small, refined figure appeared at Ludwig's side. "Hai."

Ludwig and Gilbert jumped. Ludwig sighed. "You have to stop doing that." The man, Kiku, was also wearing a police uniform, but as Gilbert looked at him, he knew for a fact that this guy was no human. He just  _knew._ He was pretty, as far as men go, with jet-black hair that fell over his ears, and long eyelashes. But his eyes were dark pits. He had no pupils and his eyes were completely black.

Gilbert swallowed and stepped back. "Um…"

Ludwig held out a calming hand. "It's okay. This is Kiku. He's a Shinigami, or a Japanese Death God." At Gilbert's gaping expression, he shook his head emphatically. "No, no, he won't hurt you." He turned to Kiku. "This is one of those guys that passed inside yesterday."

Kiku was staring at Gilbert as if he could see through his soul. Gilbert couldn't meet his pupil-less eyes without feeling a shiver of innate fear.

"'The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into confusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true.'" Gilbert stared at him blankly.

"Huh…?" But Kiku simply held his gaze for a few more seconds before disappearing back through the door. Gilbert dragged his eyes to Ludwig. "Wha…?"

Ludwig was frowning at Gilbert in appraisal. "He sees men's past, present and future. Whatever he says is always very pertinent. Do not disregard what he says."  _When I allow true love to appear…_

Gilbert cleared his throat, shaking himself mentally. "Right, well if I can't get out of here, then I need you to point me in the direction of the nearest musical instrument."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "You're a musician?" At Gilbert's nod, he looked him over skeptically. "We don't have any electric guitars or drum kits in town I'm afraid." Gilbert frowned in indignation.

"I happen to play the violin," he corrected. "And I'm pretty awesome at it too." Ludwig blinked in surprise and sat back.

"Well then, you better go to the Edelstein mansion. His whole bottom floor is a graveyard for instruments and musical scores." Gilbert grinned.  _Now we're talking._

"How do I get there?" Ludwig explained the directions and three minutes later Gilbert was back out in the sunlight, heading west along the street. At the end of the buildings, he turned left, following the side of an abandoned Laundromat.  _It'll just appear he says,_ Gilbert thought to himself in annoyance.  _What does that mean...Oh._

The mansion literally did show up out of nowhere. Now that he saw it, he could not believe that he hadn't noticed it before, looming over the town, tucked behind the buildings of the main street.

He was staring up at a beautiful mansion. It looked actually a lot more like a cross between a mansion and a castle. There were tall turrets and towers, intricate lattices and roofing, statues and fountains beside the cobblestone paths. The whole thing was made of beautiful white bricks, soaring at least six stories into the sky. The number of windows was insane.  _How does this guy keep them all clean?_ Gilbert wondered as he cautiously approached the intimidating mansion.

Ludwig had said to just walk right in. He stopped right before the huge front door, his hand reaching for the large brass door handle. He swallowed hard and gave it an experimental turn. Seamlessly, the door swung open.

Gilbert stood in the doorway for a few seconds, trying to pear into the gloom inside. It almost seemed to be uninhabited. "Hello?" He called quietly, finally moving to step inside. He found himself in the middle of a huge front foyer that made a mockery of the one at  _La Nouvelle Versailles._ The ceiling vaulted at least two stories above him where an antique crystal chandelier hung. The floor was marble and huge columns supported the vaulted roof. Picture something like the von Trapp's home in The Sound of Music.

Suddenly, the door swung closed behind Gilbert by itself. Gil jumped a bit and glanced behind him. He chuckled at himself for his fear. He pushed his shoulders back and marched through the doorway to the left where Ludwig had said he would find the instruments and probably Mr. Edelstein.

He walked through the doorway and entered a very dim room. He could barely see anything.  _With the amount of windows in this place,_ he thought to himself, walking to the gorgeous brocade curtains that hid the sunshine,  _you'd think this place would be the brightest place on Earth._

With a swoop, Gilbert pushed away the curtains, allowing the room to be filled with the late morning daylight. He turned around and froze in awe, dumbfounded for once in his life.

He was surrounded by music.

Instruments and sheet music covered every surface of the huge room, which was easily as big as an average high school gym. The room was very luxurious, with thick carpeting, purple flowered wallpaper and golden-framed oil paintings hanging on the walls. The set-up was almost like a regular sitting room from like the 19th century, but spread out on the sofas, tables and chairs were every kind of classical musical instrument you could imagine.

Golden harps leaned against walls, beautiful cellos rested against sofas, violas and double-basses reclined on special-made stands. Flutes and clarinets lay on small wooden tables. There were racks of bows strung up on the walls. Ribbon tied folders lay skewed all over the room, containing reams and reams of musical scores. A gorgeous grand piano was obviously the centerpiece of the room and it itself was covered in sheet music. But the instruments that caught Gil's attention were the violins. They were  _everywhere:_ by the windows, on the sofas, some even on the grand piano.

He could safely say that he had never been in a room filled with more music than this. He felt his fingers twitching and he couldn't stop himself. He tenderly lifted a violin laying on the window sill that he was standing in front of. He gently stroked the soft, smooth wood, marvelling at the pristine condition of the instruments. They were all flawlessly taken care of, and though the rest of the room was dusty, the instruments were not. He selected a bow from a rack and tucked the violin's velvet-covered chin rest under his chin. He slowly drew the bow over the strings and grinned. It was perfectly in tune.

"Awesome," he said in a hushed voice, his red eyes lighting up. He drew the bow over the strings again, playing a scale, getting himself used to the new instrument. The violin sang.

Pausing slightly, he turned back towards the window that he had just uncovered, mentally going through the dozens of pieces ingrained in his memory from recitals.

Smiling softly and closing his eyes, his fingers began to move, easily beginning to play Edward Elgar's  _Salut d'Amour._ The nostalgic and romantic tune was a favourite of his and he lost himself in the music, his fingers flying over the strings by memory.

However, as he came to the second repeat of the melody, when it became softer, he heard the beautiful tone of the grand piano join him in the normal accompaniment as it was originally meant to be a violin and piano duet. Gil faltered in his playing momentarily, his eyes flying open. The piano was strong but gentle underneath him, almost as if encouraging him to continue. Gilbert smirked gently, composing himself, the confidence returning to his playing.  _Mr. Edelstein?_ He didn't turn around.

The two instruments sang the song together, sometimes the violin taking the melody and the piano accompanying, sometimes the piano leading with the violin backing it up. They were in perfect harmony and Gilbert found himself taking the piano's lead as much as the piano was taking his. Even though they had never played together before, the piece came out flawlessly.

Finally they hit the last note. Gilbert drew the bow gently over the strings, holding onto that last high note as the piano quietly progressed back to the home key beneath him. Finally, he let the last note fade away into silence.

Pause.

Gilbert smiled in satisfaction as he lowered the violin and turned around to face whoever it was that had started accompanying him. Sitting at the grand piano, looking at him with a small frown on his face, was the most beautiful man he had ever met.

Whereas that Shinigami, Kiku guy had been pretty, this man was gorgeous. He was slender and pale, with dark brown hair that fell over his forehead, with one little adorable piece sticking up. His lavender eyes looked out from behind glasses and a little beauty mark was placed just underneath his full lips. His long-fingered hands laid on his lap. He was dressed as if he had just popped out of nineteenth century Europe. He was wearing a deep purple tailcoat and a white cravat (a  _cravat!)_ that seemed to shout that he was aristocratic and too-cool-for-school.

Right now he was frowning at Gilbert, his lavender eyes questioning. At first Gilbert was confused, then he remembered that he had just walked right into this house without pausing to knock. He cleared his throat and gave the man a bright smile.

"I can explain why I'm in here…"

"Then please do," the man said in a calm voice. What was that accent?  _Austrian?_

"I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt," Gilbert said, stepping forward to take the man's hand. He shook his cool, dry palm enthusiastically. "I just showed up here yesterday by accident with some friends and then today I was told that I could find musical instruments here…Ludwig said I could just walk in." The man sighed, rolling his eyes.

"That German," he said, almost to himself. He stood from the piano bench, brushing his hands over his black breeches. He was a bit shorter than Gilbert was as he walked past him, stopping at a nearby table to rearrange the piles of sheet music lying there. He glanced back at Gilbert. "I'm Roderich Edelstein, owner of this house and this collection." He nodded to the violin in Gil's hands. "You play very well."

Gilbert smiled smugly. He knew that already. "Thank you, Mr. Edelstein." The aristocrat raised an eyebrow.

"Roderich is fine," he said simply, turning back to his collection.

Gilbert looked around the room again. "This is an amazing collection," he said in awe. "When did you get all this? You don't look to be much older than myself." Roderich didn't turn around.

"I have connections," he said simply. "And time." Gilbert glanced at him.

"Well, it's awesome."

"Thank you," Roderich quietly said. He ran his hand over a flute lying on the table before turning back around to Gilbert. "You are a professional musician?"

Gilbert nodded. "Well, studying to be one," he admitted with a grin. "I want to be a concert violinist." He pointed to the grand piano. "Were you a concert pianist?" Roderich glanced at the piano, his eyes softening.

"Yes, a long time ago."  _What? This guy can only be 25 or so. Unless he was maybe a child prodigy?_

"If you don't mind," Gilbert asked hesitantly, "I'd love to be able to come here whenever I can for as long as I am here."  _Which hopefully won't be for too long,_ he added silently. The Austrian's eyes widened in surprise and Gilbert was suddenly not so confident anymore. "Uh, unless you don't want to have your privacy invaded by some random guy who barges into your house. I mean, I totally understand…"

Roderich shook his head quickly, a tiny smile crossing his lips. "N-No, no," he said, gazing down at the soft carpet. "If you want to, you can…as long as you'll allow me to accompany you sometimes." He looked up with a smile. "No one else in this town plays an instrument so I've missed playing with others."

 _Oh right. Roderich is a prisoner in this town too._ Gilbert studied him. He  _looked_ normal…But then again, really, who knew?  _It's so fucked up that I'm even considering the possibility that he's not human,_ Gilbert thought in disbelief. Now that he looked closer at Roderich, he kind of thought the man looked a bit lonely. Was he in this huge mansion by himself?

Gil smiled brightly back at him. "Thanks a bunch! Though if you ever get tired of the awesome me, just say so and I'll back off." Roderich gave him another small smile.

"Would you like to play something?" He asked, lifting a cello from where it was leaning against a sofa. Gilbert grinned.

"Sure!" Roderich rifled through his sheet music for a little bit before pulling out a piece of music. "Can you sight read this?" He asked, handing him his part. It was Mozart's Duo for Violin and Cello in G Major, Allegro. Gilbert grinned back at him.

"Of course! There's not a piece that I can't handle." So for the next few hours, Gilbert played with Roderich, becoming used to the man's musical style, and also his interesting personality. He was proud but quiet and he easily became embarrassed when flattered or teased which Gil did often as he thought it was amusing to see the man blush.

He left the house in mid-afternoon, turning to wave at Roderich who was standing at the window. He practically skipped down the street, finally feeling freer than he had since coming on this trip. He told himself that it was because he could finally release his emotions through his music, but another little part of his heart whispered that maybe a large part of it had to do with the beautiful, lonely musician alone in that big old mansion, surrounded by music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut d'Amour is a very famous piece by Edward Elgar and it's GORGEOUS XD  
> Listen to it! 
> 
> And the very enigmatic quote Kiku says is from Dante's 'The Divine Comedy' which is where I also stole the name Dis from hehe


	5. Part 2: Falling, Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I wrote smut.  
> Dunno if this counts as noncon oh well.

Chapter 4: La Vie en Rose, Part 2

The next week and a half found Matthew keeping himself very busy. From early morning to late at night, he bustled from room to room of La Nouvelle Versailles, in his old jeans and red maple leaf t-shirt, cleaning the entire house.

He dusted, swept, varnished, painted, wallpapered, mopped, wiped, polished, varnished and vacuumed every single space he could find, starting on the top floor, where Francis’ room was, to the ground floor. Mattie was a very tidy person. His apartment in downtown Toronto was spotless, even with his pet dog, Kumajirou, who was currently staying with a friend. He was actually rather OCD when it came to cleanliness and he had to physically hold himself back whenever he visited Alfred’s house as the American tended to be kind of a slob.

But, as he was determined to make the best of their current situation (which was an odd one to say the very least), he knew he had to do something about the state of the hotel. It was a lovely building with a lot of potential, but it didn’t really seem as if Francis bothered to maintain the upkeep of anything outside of his own room, his kitchen and his rose garden.

Francis. The Frenchman watched Matthew’s effort with a soft smile of amusement and indulgence on his lips. The way the little Canadian stayed busy like a little bee was endearing and sometimes Francis allowed himself to be cajoled into aiding Mattie’s efforts in cleaning.

Matthew was rather disappointed in his two best friends. Alfred and Gilbert slept in until almost ten in the mornings, ate breakfast, and then slipped out of the house for hours at a time, coming home in the late afternoon just in time for dinner. It’s as if they have an inner alarm clock that lets them know whenever it’s time to eat, Matthew thought ruefully, working outside on the tenth day of their ‘imprisonment’. He was whitewashing the siding of the hotel, covering over the scratched surface underneath.

He was wearing a painter’s smock he had found in a closet and his blonde hair was covered with a white kerchief. He spread the white paint with broad, strong strokes, wiping his forehead with his arm. It was another hot day.

He heard the front door open and Francis stepped out onto the porch. He leaned against the railing of the veranda, watching the Canadian paint with a grin on his face. Matthew felt himself blush as he tried not to stare at Francis’ skinny blue jeans and blue silk dress shirt that was halfway unbuttoned.

Matthew and Francis had continued getting closer throughout the ten days they had been living in the same house. It was routine for the two of them to talk for forty-five minutes in the morning when Francis finished tending to his roses and Matthew made breakfast.

They talked about anything and everything. Matthew told him about his schooling in Toronto, his upbringing in Montreal, the death of his mother and father in an accident two years ago, his favourite classic French literature and his favourite things to do. Francis didn’t do much talking, preferring instead to listen to Matthew. But from what he was persuaded to tell, Matthew knew that he had grown up in Paris and that he had always wanted to be a hotel concierge.

Matthew had tilted his head in curiosity at the admission. “Why?” Francis had laughed.

“I suppose it is a rather strange thing for a child to want to do,” he admitted, smiling to himself. “I just loved the idea of meeting different people from all walks of life, from all over the world, every single day. It was a grand dream for a poor little Parisian child.” Matthew had smiled at him, an image of an adorable, younger Francis filling his mind.

Matthew felt himself yanked back to the present as a large pair of hands were rested on his shoulders. He felt Francis press against his back and his heart rate increased slightly. “I must insist that you rest, Mathieu,” Francis said quietly, squeezing Mattie’s shoulders. “It’s already thirty minutes to

three. Allow me to finish the rest.” Matthew smiled up at him gratefully as he handed Francis the paint brush.

“Merci, Francis,” he murmured, stepping towards the door.

“It is not a problem, ma petite femme,” Francis answered with a wink. Matthew felt himself blush as he ducked into the house, closing the front door swiftly behind him. He leaned his back against it with a happy sigh, his hands covering his face in embarrassment. Whenever Francis called him that, ma petite femme, it did something strange to the Canadian’s insides. It scared him when he found himself daydreaming about himself actually becoming Francis’ little wife. Well, not his wife exactly, but maybe his lover…?

Matthew hit himself on the head. Shut up! He told his imagination furiously. They would be leaving this town soon (hopefully) and besides, who knew why Francis was in this town in the first place? That was a question that Mattie noticed Francis never brought up and Matthew felt like he wasn’t supposed to ask. The fact that there was magic in this town seemed to be undeniable. Gil had come home one night going on and on about a Japanese Death God with no pupils. Even Alfred had said that the Russian and Chinese owners of the convenience store/pharmacy the doctor had sent him to were some kind of demons with eyes like pits of fire. If those people were supernatural creatures, who was it to say that Francis wasn’t one too?

But he looks normal, his heart reasoned. He’s probably hiding it, his brain shot back. Matthew frowned, taking off his paint-splattered running shoes and smock and laying them by the front door. He made his way through the now sparkling dining room and into the kitchen.

He saw Francis’ empty plate in the sink from lunch so he washed it quickly. He had yet to eat a meal with Francis, actually. Something about Francis having lived alone for so long that he didn’t have regular meal times. So Matthew always set aside some of whatever he was making for the Frenchman, putting it in the microwave to keep it warm.

He put the plate in the drying rack and dried his hands on a cloth. Then his eyes were suddenly drawn to the door in the corner that presumably led down to the cellar. He had been so caught up in cleaning the rest of the hotel that he had forgotten about the lowest floor of the home.

I’ll go take a quick look now, he thought to himself. He opened the door and felt around for a light switch. Finding one, he flicked it, illuminating a bare bulb that hung over the steep wooden steps. He slowly descended them to the bottom, holding onto the bannister. At the bottom, he stepped onto cold concrete floor. The one light above the stairs did little to illuminate the gloom down below. He glanced down and saw a small flashlight propped up beside the staircase. Mattie bent and picked it up, flicking it on and shining the beam around him.

He was in a small room, only about five metres by six metres big. There weren’t a lot of things down there and the room had a rather musty smell to it. In one corner lay a substantial pile of dusty cardboard boxes. In the other corner, another refrigerator stood, humming. Storage? Matthew thought, heading for the boxes.

Shining the beam on the side of the top one, he read the words Paris 1840, written on the box in loopy cursive with what was probably a Sharpie. Curiosity getting the better of Mattie, he opened the box, holding the flashlight with one hand.

The first thing he saw was an extremely old portrait behind glass with an ornate frame. He held it to the light. It was a painting of a young man and woman. The woman was dressed in the Victorian Parisian style, with flounces and ribbons and curls in her hair. The man though…Matthew’s eyes widened in surprise. Maybe it was just the way it was painted, but the man looked exactly like Francis. Ancestor? Matthew wondered in awe at the dead ringer he was staring at. Laying the painting aside, he saw that the rest of the box was filled with really old letters with wax seals, written in French. They were all dated between 1839 and 1841, all from a girl named Marie to…”Mon chère Francis,” Matthew whispered. Old family name perhaps…

Moving the box, he reached for the next one. It read London 1875 in the same lettering. Inside was an actual photograph this time, a bit faded from the years. Another man and woman looked out from behind glass. It’s Francis again…The man in the photograph looked exactly like the Francis who was currently painting the outside of the hotel upstairs. They were exactly the same, except for here, the man was wearing old English clothing. Matthew’s hands trembled. It had to be a coincidence. This was too strange for it not to be a coincidence. This couldn’t be the same man. This was more than a hundred years ago for god’s sake. Matthew peeked into the box to see more sheets of handwritten letters, this time from a girl named Belle, again addressed to: “My dear Francis.” This is so creepy, Matthew shivered.

He hesitantly reached for another box, his hands visibly shaking. Part of him didn’t want to look, but he knew he had to. The next box read New York 1908, again with black Sharpie. Inside was another photograph, this one the best quality yet. It showed a man and a woman standing in front of an Oldsmobile. And again, there was a man that was undeniably Francis, grinning charmingly at the camera, dressed in a suit and a bowler hat, his hair tied back in a low ponytail. The letters contained in the box were now from Annie to: “Dearest Francis.” Matthew dropped the picture back into the box and stepped away, his shaking hand making the beam of light from the flashlight move erratically.

He swallowed hard, pushing the panic down that was threatening to rise up in his heart. I’ll just go ask him about it, Matthew thought, willing himself to calm down. He slowly made his way across the small room to open the still humming refrigerator, to just ascertain if there was anything in there he could use for meals. Reasonable explanations, he told himself. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for everything.

He slowly opened the fridge door, the sudden bright light shining from inside making him squint. He threw it wider. He screamed, dropping the flashlight.

Inside, packed in neat rows in boxes, were bottles of human blood.

xXx

Matthew collapsed on his bed at only eight o’clock that night. He curled into a small ball, wrapping his arms around himself.

That afternoon had been a mental struggle. After he had found the blood in the fridge he had scrambled back up the stairs in terror, slamming the cellar door behind him. He had spent a good fifteen minutes standing in the kitchen taking deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. He was so shocked that he couldn’t even begin processing what he had seen. Those pictures were scary enough but then to find bottles of…blood…as well.

I can’t let this go unnoticed, he had told himself, gripping the edge of the countertop, squeezing his eyes shut. I have to ask Francis about it. But before he could gather his courage to go and confront Francis about it, Alfred and Gilbert had returned and it was already five in the evening. Francis hadn’t come into the kitchen since Matthew had left him outside so Mattie mechanically threw together a cold chicken salad with bread for his friends.

He honestly didn’t have any appetite at all and he couldn’t help but notice that Alfred and Gilbert were unnaturally subdued as well. No words were spoken at the table and the whole atmosphere was really tense. Matthew was too wrapped up in his own gruesome thoughts to seriously question his friends about it and after they were done, his friends retreated to their rooms.

Matthew washed the dishes as he looked out the window that was right above the sink. He could see the full moon beginning to rise in the sky. It looked cold and beautiful. Mattie once again felt panic rise in his stomach. His hands trembled as he put the dishes up to dry.

He wiped down the dining room table and the countertops before retreating to his room where he now lay, surrounded by haunting thoughts. Francis wasn’t human. The thought hit him like a punch to the stomach. The man’s handsome face came to mind but now it was coupled with the painting and the pictures from days gone by, blood-stained and smiling. What the actual fuck?

Matthew sat up at the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs outside. They reached the second floor and continued on up to the third. Francis…

Mattie narrowed his eyes, a determined frown crossing his face even as his heart faltered in fear. He sprung from his bed, quietly opened his door and slipped up the stairs after the Frenchman. He paused at the door to Francis’ room. His was the only one up here on the third floor except for one guest room on the other side of the hall.

Matthew took a deep breath before knocking firmly on the door. Francis threw it open quickly and looked out, smiling in pleasure at the Canadian. He took in Mattie’s rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants that he had changed into.

“Ah, Mathieu! Entrez!” Matthew quickly slipped past Francis into the room without saying anything. The room was much larger than the hotel rooms in the floor below them. A large queen-sized bed stood in the middle of the room on soft carpet. A sofa sat in front of a small fireplace. A large bathroom took up one side of the room, where Matthew knew there was a huge bath and a separate shower. A huge bookcase filled with French literary works sat in the corner beside a big dresser and mirror. The room was immaculately clean.

Matthew stood in the centre of the room, staring at the mirror across from him. He looked terrible. His violet eyes were wide and watery. His lips were puffy from biting on them, his cheeks pale, his soft blonde hair askew. He could see Francis standing a little ways behind him, looking at him curiously while closing the door.

“Ça va, Mathieu?” Francis asked with a small, worried frown. Just say it, Matthew told himself.

“I saw the boxes in the cellar,” he said in a low tone, not turning to face Francis. “And…the blood.” That last was barely audible, but Matthew knew Francis heard it.

Francis sighed. “And?” He asked. Matthew glanced up, meeting his gaze in the mirror. The Frenchman was now frowning, his beautiful blue eyes cold.

“What are you?” Matthew asked.

A frightening grin crossed Francis’ face. He slowly walked towards Matthew, not letting his eyes slide from their gaze in the mirror. He came to a stop just behind him, his chest pressing against his back. Mattie shivered.

“Do you really want to know?” Francis’ breath was hot against his ear as he slowly nodded, their gazes still locked in the mirror. Francis’ hands gripped his shoulders and trailed down his arms slowly. “What do you think?” He asked tranquilly.

Mattie swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, trails of heat appearing wherever Francis touched. “Y-You haven’t aged since 1840,” he said shakily. “Are you…immortal?” Francis hummed in approval.

“Très bien,” he murmured. “So, what creatures do you know who are immortal and who also happen to have a supply of human blood provided by a certain doctor from a certain hospital that certain demons obtained for him through probably illegal means from outside of the barrier?” Matthew’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to laugh to cover up his fear.

“Vampires aren’t real,” he said, daring Francis to contradict him. Francis held his gaze in the mirror for a few more seconds in contemplation before dropping his head to Matthew’s shoulder. Gently pushing aside the neck of his t-shirt, he brought his cold lips to Matthew’s neck. Mattie gasped, flinching, his eyes closing.

He felt Francis’ lips part and then he felt Francis’ teeth at his neck. They punctured his skin. Fangs…A warm wave passed over Matthew, making him moan as he leant back against the man, feeling Francis lick up the two spots of blood that appeared over the puncture marks.

“It feels good, doesn’t it Mathieu?” Francis murmured, licking Matthew’s ear. “It’s supposed to.” Matthew felt himself get turned around so he was now facing Francis. He gazed up at him with hooded eyelids, completely powerless against Francis’ aura.

Francis stared down at him, his eyes ice blue, regarding him solemnly with barely contained desire. Matthew could see the fangs that had descended where his canines usually were. “Since the first moment I saw you,” he said huskily, licking his lips slowly, “I’ve wanted to do this to you.” Matthew felt a cold finger raise his chin as Francis lowered his mouth to his. His lips parted as Francis gently flicked his tongue over his closed mouth. Francis crashed their mouths together, his tongue, surprisingly warm, invading his mouth.

Matthew’s eyes fluttered close, pressing closer to the man’s cold body. It was like Francis was a magnet that he was irresistibly drawn to. He couldn’t explain the desire that was welling up in him at the man’s – no, god, he was a freaking vampire – touch. He leant closer, pressing himself against him.

Then Francis’ mouth was again at his neck, lapping up beads of blood that had started to gather there from before. Matthew threw his head back, a small whimper escaping from him. He felt Francis’ hands lower to the hem of his t-shirt, cold hands slipping under it and travelling back up his bare skin, making Matthew shudder. With one motion, he found his shirt lying discarded on the floor as Francis pushed him onto the soft bed.

Matthew lay there, shivering, staring up at the man that was kneeling over him. Francis pulled his own shirt over his head, exposing his pale but muscular body. Matthew tentatively reached out a hand to place it flat on Francis’ chest. He stared up at him, desire and fear warring in him.

Francis placed his hands on either side of Matthew’s head, towering over him, his blue eyes lust-filled but serious. “You found out my secret due partly to my carelessness but also partly due to your insatiable curiosity,” he murmured, bending to trail his lips across Matthew’s chest, lightly licking a pink nipple, causing Mattie to stifle a moan. “You have to pay for your mistake,” he muttered, moving his tongue up the Canadian’s neck. “And I’ll make sure you do.” He once again roughly caught Matthew’s lips in his own, pushing his tongue inside. Matthew moaned into his mouth as he felt his own tongue get scraped by Francis’ fangs.

One of Francis’ hands held himself upright while the other trailed down lower to divest him of his sweatpants and boxers. Soon Matthew was completely naked on the bed as Francis did all sorts of things to his body; teasing him here, prodding him there, creating more puncture marks than he could count. Soon Matthew was panting, thrusting his hips up, looking for any sort of friction as his erection was begging to be relieved.

“F-Francis,” he moaned wantonly, “please…Stop…teasing – Gyah!” He cried as Francis stuffed his fingers into Matthew’s mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded, his breathing still annoyingly under control. Obediently Mattie begin sucking. When his fingers were sufficiently coated, Francis moved his hand down past his swollen member to Matthew’s wet entrance.

When he stuck a finger inside, Mattie cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily. A small smirk crossed Francis’ face as he pushed in another finger, scissoring to loosen up the muscles that contracted against his fingers, sucking him in. Then Matthew felt three of Francis’ fingers inside him and he let out a tiny whimper, trying to create more pressure against his prostate by weakly thrusting his hips, already worn out. Francis dug his fingers in deeper, searching for that one spot that, when he found it, made Matthew see white heat. He cried out the loudest yet, but he was still painfully hard.

“Fran-ahhh…” Francis quickly withdrew his hand and unbuttoned his own jeans, pulling them and his boxers down, exposing his own swollen member. He roughly flipped Matthew onto his forearms and knees, lining up his cock with Matthew’s quivering entrance. His hands gripped Mattie’s thighs as he entered the Canadian.

Matthew gasped at the unexpected pain, bending his head to the pillows to muffle his cries as Francis pounded into him, the feeling of Francis stretching him to the point of breaking almost too much to bear. He felt one of Francis’ cold hands grip his own neglected erection, quickly sliding it through his

grip. Then the pain lessened, replaced with desire. Matthew found himself rocking himself back to meet Francis as he thrust into him, reveling in the contact.

It wasn’t long before Matthew lost control and came, splattering his seed all over his chest and the bed beneath him. Francis came not long afterwards with a small moan, filling Matthew’s insides. Mattie felt the strength leave his limbs as he collapsed onto the bed, too tired to move. He was trembling uncontrollably, curling into a ball, his eyes closing in exhaustion.

He had just been taken by a vampire. But the vampire is also Francis, his heart whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he lost the battle to keep his eyes open. As he sunk into unconsciousness, the vampire bites beginning to sting, he thought he felt a cold hand gently caress his body before he fell asleep, dreaming, mercifully, no dreams.


	6. Part 2: Falling, Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Tameable Beast, Part 2

Alfred began frequenting the doctor’s office continuously over the next several days. How long they’d been there, Alfred didn’t bother to try and figure out – he just knew that it felt like forever. It had become a sort of routine: wake up between nine-thirty and ten in the morning, eat the breakfast Mattie had ready, slip outside, walking to Arthur’s office where he would spend several hours, returning to hotel when at last Arthur pushed him out (which, if Alfred was counting right, was becoming later and later each day).

What did he find to do in the empty doctor’s office you might ask? Alfred was basically there just to take up space. He would watch Arthur check off lists of medical equipment and bandages as he chattered away about school and football and the new Star Wars movie coming out next year. Arthur would be almost stonily silent as Alfred talked, though his occasional questions proved that he was listening.

Alfred persuaded him to tell him about his childhood growing up in a small country town in England. He had apparently gone to school at Oxford before going to a medical school in the States.

“How old are you?” Alfred asked one day, trying to help Arthur by rolling up bandages.

“Make it a bit tighter,” Arthur ordered. He was cleaning his stethoscope and sterilizing his syringes and needles. “I’m thirty-two,” he added shortly. Alfred’s blue eyes widened in surprise.

“Whoa, you’re ten years older than me?” He exclaimed. Arthur frowned over his instruments.

“What of it?” He muttered. Alfred shrugged, starting to toy with the bandage in his hand.

“You don’t really seem that old,” he admitted with a smile. Arthur rolled his green eyes.

“Thirty-two isn’t that old you idiot.” Suddenly Alfred fumbled with the white bandage and he lost his grip on. It sprung from his grasp and flew across the room, unrolling as it went and landing on the floor. Arthur swore and chased after it. “You bloody American!” He cried. “Now I’ll have to clean it…why the hell are you laughing?!”

Alfred’s elbow was pretty much completely healed and after what was apparently nine days, Arthur decided that it would be safe to take off his sling. Alfred sat on the examination table, watching as Arthur swiftly unhooked him from the sling. He then proceeded to touch and move his elbow, asking Alfred if it hurt when he moved it.

As he mechanically answered, he focused in on the warmth of the hand that was holding onto him. He found that as the days slipped past he was noticing more and more things about the other man. He noticed how that little crease between his eyebrows appeared when he frowned. He watched in amusement as the Brit’s cheeks flushed whenever he was angry or annoyed. He wondered if his shaggy sandy blonde hair felt as soft as it looked, if the skin under his chin was as smooth as it appeared. He loved the way his emerald green eyes glared at him whenever Alfred made a silly joke. He thought it was adorable how he would frown at him in disapproval but then smiled softly to himself when he thought Alfred wasn’t looking.

These feelings sprouting in Alfred were unexpected but not unwelcome. He’d be the first one to admit that he was totally taken with the grumpy Englishman and frankly, it was only a matter of time before Alfred would make a move, relatively confident that Arthur wouldn’t refuse him. He wanted to hold him, kiss him, make him his. He smiled to himself as he walked home that day, thinking about how, after the barrier was gone, he’d bring Arthur with him to Ohio.

The next morning he stretched his arms as he ambled out the door. Another nice day, he thought as he started down the street, feeling like skipping. He paused outside of Arthur’s practice, looking up at the sign momentarily. Maybe I should get him something…just to say thanks for taking care of my elbow and ribs. He turned his gaze to the convenience store and pharmacy across the street. His optimism sunk a little at the thought of going back into that strange place, but he remembered there being flowers there the last time.

He straightened his back, holding his head up, a determined frown crossing his face as he marched across the street. He threw open the front door which buzzed to announce his entrance.

“Helloooo!” He called into the dim place, stepping inside. “Ivan! Yao! Anyone in?” To be honest, the store looked pretty much exactly like a regular convenience store, with drinks in coolers, snacks and chips on racks, random gift bags and cards along one wall and lottery tickets at the counter. Except this one was a lot darker. There was an adjoining room through an open doorway that led to a tiny little pharmacy with a counter and a doorway behind it that led to the small dispensary.

It wasn’t even the building that made Alfred so wary though; it was the owners.

“Ah, Comrade Alfred!” Alfred forced a smile at the big man behind the counter in the convenience store half of the shop. Ivan Braginsky: a huge, Russian communist with a creepy smile. But that wasn’t even the scariest part. No, that was reserved for his eyes. He had no eyes. They were empty black pits with, if you looked close enough, flames flickering in their depths. Two horns poked out from his pale blonde hair.

He and his partner Yao Wang, a small Chinese man with the same eyes and horns, were apparently minor demons. Like, what the hell right? But Alfred just kind of rolled with it. This whole experience was making his faith in the accuracy of those supernatural blockbuster movies he loved to watch increase exponentially.

“Hey Ivan,” Alfred said cheerily, approaching the counter. “I’d like to take a look at your flowers.” The Russian smiled widely and Alfred was sure that if he had had eyes, they would’ve lit up in pleasure.

“Of course, of course!” He bent to pull out two buckets full of flowers from underneath the counter. “Here is what we have. Very beautiful, da?” The buckets were filled with mostly wildflowers as Alfred gingerly pawed through them. His fingers grasped onto a pretty sunflower, holding it up a little, regarding it seriously. “Ah, good choice!” Ivan exclaimed, clapping his hands a little. Alfred frowned a little. Somehow, a sunflower didn’t really seem to fit Arthur. He placed the sunflower back in the bucket but then Ivan took it back and shoved it into his face.

“Take the sunflower, da?” He asked, urging Alfred to reach out to take it. Alfred smiled and shook his head, waving his hands.

“No, no thanks,” he said, laughing a little bit. The Russian frowned. “You take the sunflower, da?” He growled, suddenly very intimidating. Alfred backed up.

“Um…”

“Ivan!” Alfred sighed in relief as Yao walked in from the pharmacy. The Chinese man was a lot more level-headed than his Russian partner. “Let the American choose what he wants, aru!” Ivan pouted a little bit.

“But Yao…” Yao frowned and poked him in the side. “No, Ivan. The customer is always first, aru.” Yao motioned for Alfred to proceed in picking another one. Alfred smiled awkwardly as he turned his attention back to the bucket.

“So,” he said, pushing aside a daisy (weren’t daisies weeds…?), “what did you two do to be trapped in here?” Yao chuckled a little.

“Oh we aren’t the prisoners here, aru,” he corrected. Alfred looked up in surprise. “No, we are here to make sure that the prisoners who are here have access to the goods and materials they need. We are getting a rather substantial reward from the Fates too, aru.”

“But where are you guys getting all this stuff if you can’t leave?” He asked frowning. Yao grinned slyly. “We are demons, aru. We have our own means.”

Otherworldly smuggling ring? “The Fates? Who is being held prisoner? What for?” Yao looked at Ivan with a small smile.

“We are sworn to secrecy, right Ivan?” Ivan grinned down at the small man, patting his head affectionately. “Da.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and looked back down at the bucket. Then he saw the tiny rose thrown in at the bottom. Isn’t the national flower of England a rose or something like that? Alfred grabbed it and smiled. It was small but pretty. He probably could’ve snuck a nicer one from Francis’ garden but he didn’t want to risk the Frenchman’s wrath.

He walked out of the store with a light step, dashing across the street, bursting through the front door of the clinic.

“Oh Arthur!” He called, heading for the office where he probably was. He pushed open the door but then paused. The Englishman was hunched over his desk, sitting in his chair, sound asleep. Alfred frowned. He had never seen Arthur sleep during the day before, especially not at eleven-thirty in the morning. He had never seen Arthur sleep before.

Alfred blushed as he watched the Englishman shift slightly, a small sigh coming from his lips. His face looked so smooth and calm when he was sleeping. Before he could stop himself, he found himself reaching forwards to trail a finger softly down his cheek.

Arthur suddenly jerked up, his bright green eyes snapping open, blurred from slip. He leapt to his feet, away from Alfred, who quickly hid his hand in embarrassment.

“Bollocks,” Arthur groaned, rubbing his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Alfred frowned at him in worry. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles, his face looked drawn, his shoulders stooped. This was not the confident and aloof Brit that he was used to seeing.

“Are you alright?” Alfred asked, stepping towards him slowly. Fear appeared in Arthur’s eyes for a split second before it was replaced by dismissal.

“I should be the one to ask you that,” he said abruptly, motioning to his elbow.

Alfred grinned, rotating his arm, showing Arthur his restored motion. “Good as new, doc.” Arthur nodded.

“Good.” He turned back to his desk, putting a bunch of papers onto another pile. Alfred bit his lip nervously as he cleared his throat. Arthur looked up inquisitively.

“Um…well, I – uh – got this for you to say thanks for, yeah…” Alfred trailed off lamely, blushing a bit as he pulled the rose gingerly from his pocket and handing it to Arthur.

Arthur’s green eyes widened in surprise, a faint blush tinging his cheeks as he accepted it. “Oh,” he said quietly, looking down at it. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said putting it in an empty jar sitting on his desk, hiding his face from Alfred’s sight.

Alfred couldn’t stop himself anymore. He stepped towards Arthur, wrapping his arms around him tightly, his front pressing against the Englishman’s back, burying his face in his hair. It really is soft…

Arthur stiffened in shock. “A-Alfred?!” Alfred squeezed him harder.

“Do you like me?” He asked in a small voice, making Arthur jerk in surprise.

“What?” He cried, trying weakly to get away.

“Do you like me?” Alfred whispered in his ear, making the Englishman shiver. He brushed his lips against Arthur’s neck.

Arthur burst from Alfred’s arms, spinning around, his green eyes wild, his cheeks red. “Bloody hell, Alfred!” He cried angrily. “What the fuck are you thinking?!” Alfred stared at him in shock.

“I-I…”

Arthur growled, straightening his shirt. “I think you should go,” he said bluntly, stepping past Alfred and standing at the door, motioning for Alfred to go.

Alfred opened his mouth. “A-Art –“

Arthur looked at him tiredly, his anger fading away, replaced with exhaustion and sadness. “Please, Alfred. I really am not feeling well. It would be best if you left.” Alfred opened his mouth again but no sounds came out.

Blue drowned in green but the green remained impassive. Alfred slowly walked past Arthur, through the waiting room and out into the street, his heart and thoughts in torment.

xXx

Alfred spent the next hours walking aimlessly up and down the main street of Dis, not caring if anyone thought he was going insane.

Arthur’s rejection…it had shocked him, to be perfectly honest. Sure the man was as prickly as a thorn bush, but those insults, that disdain; Alfred thought that they had hidden a mutual attraction. I can’t be wrong, he told himself emphatically over and over again. He was not used to being rejected and he was surprised at how much it hurt. But Alfred being Alfred, he knew he couldn’t give up. At least not until he had gotten a firm and total rejection from the Englishman.

The sun slowly began to sink. Alfred ran into Gilbert coming home from wherever and they walked back to La Nouvelle Versailles in silence. Mattie had cold chicken salad waiting for them but Alfred barely tasted it as he sat in silence, quickly forcing the food down before retreating to his room where he crashed on his bed, sprawled out, staring at the ceiling.

He closed his eyes, hoping for a nap that never came. Instead his mind was full of pictures of Arthur, of all the conversations they had had. His thoughts flew to how tired and weak Arthur had seemed that day and his stomach twisted in worry. There was definitely something wrong with him. Maybe that was what had made him push Alfred away.

Alfred was suddenly filled with a desire to see him. He rolled out of bed and stared out the window, up at the sky. Ah the full moon is out, he thought, staring at the beacon of hope, the brightest light in the lightless sky.

He clenched his fists, suddenly determined. He left his room, trotted quietly down the stairs and out the front door into the warm night air. He walked down the street towards the clinic, his path lit by the moon.

He stopped outside, staring at the building. The lower floor was dark but there was a light in the upper floor where Arthur lived. Swallowing hard, Alfred tried the front door. Surprisingly it was unlocked. Well, who does he have to lock it against?

He slipped in, pulling the door shut. He moved to the one door of the clinic that he had never opened: the one leading up to Arthur’s living quarters. He quickly opened the door before he lost his nerve, slipping up the stairs. Oh my god, this is kinda creepy, he thought to himself ruefully. I should have just knocked on the door…He kept going.

Reaching the top of the stairs he emerged into a darkened hallway. To his left lay a kitchen and living room combination. To his right were three doors, presumably a bedroom, bathroom and guest room. The light he had seen from the window was coming from the one closest to him on the right-hand side of the hallway.

Alfred stepped up to the door and raised his hand, knocking on it. Silence. Frowning, Alfred tried again. No response.

Worried now, Alfred opened the door himself. He was in a small bedroom, with a bed, a dresser, a closet and a desk. No Arthur. The window was open, the curtains fluttering in the light night breeze.

“Arthur?” Alfred called quietly. There was no answer. Alfred was really worried now and he turned around to go back out the door, resolving to search through the whole house. But before he left the room, he heard a thump from behind him. He whirled around.

“Art -? What the fuck…” Standing before him was a tall…being? It was humanoid, with pointy ears, almond-shaped eyes, pale blue skin, shaggy short green hair and long appendages. Green tattoos covered its body. It was dressed in what seemed like holy shit are those leaves? It seemed to have jumped through the window. But most importantly, it was holding a wicked looking sword that was now pointed at him.

“Ah shit!” Alfred cried, leaping backwards and slamming into the wall of the bedroom. He stared at the being in fear. Were those fucking wings on its back? “What did you do to Arthur?!”

The being steadily approached him, brandishing his sword. “Nonononononono…” He cried, shrinking away. He felt steel at his throat and a hand grip his chin, forcing him to look at the thing.

Alfred’s wide, panic-stricken blue eyes met a very familiar green gaze. Alfred gasped. “A-Arthur…?” The rest of the body was completely alien but Alfred could swear that those emerald green eyes were the Englishman’s. “Arthur?! What the fuck man? What happened? It’s me!”

The creature glared at him, Arthur’s eyes glared at him, not recognising the other man. The knife pressed closer, an intelligible growl emerging from its mouth which housed rows of pointed teeth. “Arthur!” Alfred was now convinced that this was Arthur. He’d know those bewitching green eyes anywhere. “Arthur, it’s me!” He brought his hands up to push against the creature’s cool shoulders. He cried out as the knife edge began to suffocate him.

“Artie!” He yelled. “Please, it’s me! Alfred! Please…” He stared deep into the eyes that he knew so well. “Please,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s me. Alfred. You know, that annoying American who keeps bugging you? Who hit on you today? Who loves you?” Finally, a reaction. The green eyes blinked in momentary surprise, becoming confused. Alfred rolled with it. “Yeah, that’s right. I love you. And I know you have feelings for me, don’t deny it. Please Artie. Don’t do something you’ll regret. I love you.”

The creature with Arthur’s eyes opened its mouth and screeched. Suddenly there was a flash of light and he was gone.

Alfred slumped to the ground, dragging in deep breaths. “A-Artie?” He choked out, pulling himself to his feet. But he was gone. Alfred stumbled to the bed and collapsed on it, curling into a ball and trying to control his breathing.

His mind was an exhausted whirl. What the hell was that? A demon maybe? Or fairy? But it was obviously also Arthur at the same time. Was this the supernatural part of the man that he hadn’t seen up until now? Arthur had seemed so normal, so human, that it made Alfred forget that pretty much every person in this town was some supernatural being. Was Arthur really not human? Had he just confessed his love towards an otherworldly creature?

“Well fuck,” Alfred whispered as his eyes closed, sinking into a restless sleep on Arthur’s bed as the full moon continued rising to its zenith outside the still open window.


	7. Part 2: Falling, Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Salut d’Amour, Part 2

Gilbert was in love with Roderich’s music.

Each time Gilbert arrived at the huge mansion – which, to be honest, was every day – he entered the building to the sound of the gorgeous grand piano. He would pause in the entrance hall, standing by the doorway to the music room, in the shadows, staring at the Austrian as he finished whatever piece he happened to be playing. His eyes were always closed, having memorized the piece perfectly. His long-fingered, ivory hands would glide gracefully across the black and white keys, allowing his body to flow with the music.

Roderich’s technique was flawless. He was gentle where he had to be and aggressive where it was required, but even when it was a more forceful piece, the underlying gentleness was still evident. It was almost as if Roderich were caressing the music, bringing out the most beautiful and tense parts and creating something amazing.

On one such morning, Gilbert watched as Roderich played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Although it was not the most difficult piece in the world, the way Roderich played it made it seem like Gilbert was hearing it for the first time. All of the beauty and the angst and the passion of the piece was clearly brought out by Roderich’s expressive playing and Gil found himself holding his breath as he finished, letting the last chord fade away before stepping into the room with a broad smile on his face, slowly clapping.

Roderich jolted from his relaxed position at the piano, looking at Gilbert with wide violet eyes. “Well done, Little Prince,” Gil exclaimed. He noticed Roderich’s cheeks flush in annoyance at the nickname. It had just seemed so right when Gilbert had given it to him a few days ago and although Roderich had protested against it very much at the beginning, Gil wouldn’t let it go, so Roderich just gave up which allowed Gilbert the very great pleasure of making the pretty musician angry.

“You really should not eavesdrop,” Roderich said, frowning in disapproval as he stood and moved away from the piano. “It isn’t in very good taste.” Gil laughed, running a hand across a nearby violin.

“Of course you would say something like that,” he said, grinning at the dark-haired man. “But it caused you no pain and it brought only pleasure to me, so I think that you should bend the rules of ‘taste’ because they do not apply to moi.” Roderich’s scowl got deeper even as his cheeks flushed at Gilbert’s praise.

Gilbert had discovered that though Roderich might have been living alone for a while in that huge house, he was in no way a pushover. He was pretty sure actually, that if his arrival at Roderich’s mansion the other day hadn’t been so completely out of the ordinary, Roderich would have kicked him out, especially now that he knew Gilbert’s rather pushy and flamboyant character.

And still Gil felt the irresistible urge to tease the man by acting rather brashly and confidently which he could tell grated on the man’s nerves. He was just so adorable whenever he got that disapproving frown on his face while his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. His lavender eyes seemed to both express and suppress many emotions at the exact same time. He smiled, but it was always tinged with sadness. He laughed, but it was laugh tainted by anger and bitterness. What had happened in Roderich’s past Gil didn’t know, and however much he yearned to find out, he knew that Roderich would probably throw him out from his presence if he so much as he asked.

So Gilbert continued to frequently haunt Roderich’s music room, staving off his curiosity by feeding it with the music that he and Roderich created together.

xXx

One morning, at breakfast, Gil noticed that Alfred looked rather chipper. “Look who’s Mr. Golden Sunshine this morning,” Gilbert smirked, stretching as he stood from the table. Mattie, who was clearing away the dishes, smiled softly at his friends before retreating into the kitchen. Gil felt a tiny stab

of guilt as he knew how hard Matthew was working for them, but the draw to Roderich’s music room was too strong to resist.

Alfred followed Gilbert out the front door into the morning sunlight. He smiled as he gestured to the sling on his arm. “Arthur said that he can take this off today,” Alfred explained, practically leaping down the porch steps.

“Do you spend all your time with that doctor these days?” Gil asked as they turned left onto the sidewalk.

Alfred shrugged, grinning. “He’s hilarious,” he said. “His reactions are so funny and he acts like he can’t stand me, but I know that he’s secretly pleased with my company. I think it gets pretty lonely for him in that unused doctor’s office, so of course it’s the hero’s duty to keep him company.” Gilbert laughed. That sounds eerily similar to me and Roderich, he thought to himself, his stomach doing a tiny flip as he thought about the lavender-eyed musician.

He left Alfred in front of the clinic as he continued down the street in the direction of Roderich’s mansion. As usual he couldn’t see it from the street, although he technically should’ve been able to considering how large it was. Probably some magical crap, he thought, shivering a bit despite the warm day.

Almost as if in response to his thought, a puff of smoke appeared just before him, clearing away to reveal one of the ‘warlocks’ that they had met upon their arrival in Dis.

“Holy shit!” Gilbert cried, leaping backwards. He groaned when he recognized the little Italian. “Damn it, don’t do that shrimpy.”

The warlock looked up at him with big green eyes. “Ve, sorry Gilbert!” He said cheerily. This one’s Feliciano, right? Gilbert glanced around.

“Where’s the other one?”

Feliciano looked at him in confusion, before realizing what he was talking about. “Oh, Lovi? Ve, he snuck off to call his Spanish boyfriend.” Feliciano giggled a little. Gilbert frowned.

“How can he talk to him?” He asked. “He’s not in this town is he?” Feliciano shrugged with a smile.

“We are not the prisoners here,” he explained. The two of them started to walk down the street in the direction Gilbert had been going. “Plus, we’re warlocks and we have ways of communicating that don’t bend to normal rules.” Gilbert hummed noncommittally. Feliciano glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. “You’re going to go see Roderich aren’t you?” Gilbert nodded, keeping his eyes forward. “How is he?” The Italian asked quietly.

Gilbert frowned and looked down at the man. “Lonely,” he said shortly. “Though he tries to pretend he isn’t.” Feliciano smiled slightly, his eyes looking straight ahead. Gilbert started to feel annoyed. “Why hasn’t anyone been to see him besides me?” He demanded, stopping. “He’s all alone in that big house and though he says nothing, I know he really wants someone to talk to.”

Feliciano stopped a little ways ahead of him and turned back to look at him. “We would,” he said quietly. “We really would. But we cannot see his home so we cannot visit him.” Gilbert narrowed his red eyes.

“I know you can’t see it from the street, but if you just go around the buildings…” Feliciano shook his head.

“Ve, not even then.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of the strange blue cloak he was wearing. “The thing with Roderich’s home is that it is only visible to people who the owner wants to see, only the people who can fulfill his deepest desire.”

Gilbert frowned. “Then why me?” Feliciano smiled, his eyes lighting up.

“Weren’t you looking for a place to play music?” He asked. “Ludwig told me that that’s what you were looking for. Maybe all Roderich wanted was someone to come play with him. Ordinary company wasn’t something he truly wanted, lonely or not.” Gilbert felt his cheeks flush slightly.

“So…I’m the only one able to visit him?” He asked. Feliciano nodded, turning back around and skipping to the entrance of the police building a little ways away.

“Why are you going to see Ludwig?” Gil asked, pausing in front of the building. Feliciano glanced back, his hand on the door.

“He’s mine,” he said simply, his eyes soft. “Though I’m the warden of Dis and not a prisoner with a curse to lift, the Fates sent him to me because they knew I needed him. Ve, they are actually really good people, the Fates.” Waving, Feliciano disappeared into the building.

“Wait – “But he had already closed the door. Gilbert sighed, continuing to walk. He had wanted to ask the warlock more about these Fates. He turned at the corner of the Laundromat and emerged on the other side to see the huge, beautiful mansion.

He paused on the walkway, staring up at it, a tiny, satisfied grin on his face. The only one, huh?

xXx

The next day, Gilbert walked through the front door, for once not hearing Roderich at the piano. He walked into the music room to find the Austrian standing by the huge windows that Gilbert had insisted be kept unblocked by the brocade curtains. Roderich jumped guiltily as Gilbert strolled in.

“Were you waiting for me, Little Prince?” He joked, grinning a little. Roderich glared even as his cheeks flushed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, sticking his nose in the air. Gilbert laughed and grabbed the Austrian’s arm, dragging him towards the piano. “What are you doing?!” Roderich gasped, struggling to get away. Gilbert sat Roderich down on the piano bench and stood over him, grinning down at the man.

“Let’s play a piano duet!” Roderich raised a thin eyebrow in doubt.

“Can you play well enough?” He asked. Gilbert frowned in mock indignation.

“Of course!” He assured him. “This is me we’re talking about after all.” Roderich smiled slightly, rolling his lavender eyes. He began searching through the reams of sheet music lying on the piano.

“This one,” he said quietly after a while. He pulled out Dvorak’s Slavonic Dances Op. 42, No. 2. Gilbert nodded and took a seat on the left of the piano bench while Roderich sat on the right. He looked over the sheet music for a few moments before nodding at Roderich that he was good to go.

The piece started off very sad and yearning. There was a period of jaunty happiness in the middle before modulating back to the minor key. The ending was a flip back to the peppy little bit from the middle, ending on a mostly happy note.

Gilbert played the lower part while Roderich took the higher notes. Though Gilbert was focusing a lot of his attention on the music, determined not to mess up, a portion of his attention was taken up by the man at his side. He didn’t think he’d ever been in such close proximity with Roderich before. Their sides and the sides of their legs were continuously touching. Sometimes their hands would brush when their parts entwined, causing little flashes of heat to blaze up Gil’s arm.

Roderich’s playing was steady and expressive, his fingers lightly touching the keys, his eyes wandering to the sheet music every now and then to ascertain their spot. Gilbert’s style was a bit more uncouth as the piano had never been his main focus. However, the music still sounded sweet to his ears as he and Roderich became one with the instrument, playing the piece that was meant for two.

They played the last quiet chord and Gilbert leaned back with a sigh a pleased grin on his face. “See?” He said triumphantly. “Never doubt Gilbert Beilschmidt. I’m too awesome to be underestimated.” Roderich remained sitting straight on the bench, looking at Gilbert out of the corner of his eye.

“You played quite well,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing as he appraised the German. Gilbert felt his heart miss a beat at his scrutiny. Suddenly an idea popped into his mind that he realized he’d been pondering in the back of his mind for the past several days. He sat up straighter with a smile on his face, nudging Roderich’s shoulder with his own.

“Hey, Roderich,” he said eagerly, staring down at the beautiful man. “When this barrier comes down or whatever, when we get out of here, you should totally come to New York with me.” Roderich’s eyes widened in shock and Gilbert leaned a bit closer in his eagerness, their shoulders and legs now firmly pressed together. “Yeah, it would be awesome! Every music school would want you as a teacher and you could give concerts everywhere. People would come from all over to see you! You’re not only a virtuoso on the piano but you’re also gorgeous – “ Gilbert coughed awkwardly as that last bit had come out without thinking. He watched as Roderich’s cheeks went from red, to redder and then suddenly grew pale.

Neither of them moved for a few moments. Gilbert felt the heat from Roderich’s skin seep into his body and it took all of his willpower not to lean in closer.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Gil cleared his throat. “Well?” He asked, urging Roderich to answer positively with the eager tone of his voice.

Roderich stared up at him. Was that fright in his lavender eyes? Gilbert frowned. “Roderich?” His hand moved up to gently cup the other man’s cheek. At the touch, a visible shiver went through the Austrian’s body as he briefly pressed into Gil’s hand. But then he bit his lip, his lavender eyes veiled by an unknown emotion, leaning away from Gilbert. He slid off of the piano bench and walked to the window where he stood with his back facing Gilbert.

“Even when, and if, they let everyone out of here,” he said in a low voice, staring out the window, “I shan’t go with them.” Gilbert frowned, rising from the bench.

“What? Why?”

“It isn’t really this barrier that is keeping me in here.” Gilbert swallowed hard at the emotionless tone of Roderich’s voice. “It is the house. I was here even before everyone else came. I cannot leave the confines of this place. I haven’t been outside in years.” Gilbert chuckled shakily, slowly moving towards the Austrian.

“How old are you?” He asked in a voice that struggled to come up with some semblance of bravado.

“How old do you think I am?” Roderich asked calmly, still facing away from him.

“I don’t know…maybe twenty-five?” Gil jumped at Roderich’s bark of laughter.

“I am one hundred and forty-nine years old, Gilbert,” he stated, as if he were simply telling him that it was a sunny day outside. Gilbert stopped in his tracks.

“What are you?” He whispered, reaching out over the remaining distance between them to touch Roderich’s shoulder and forcibly turn him around to face him. The man’s face was pale, his teeth clenched, his eyes watery. He looked as if he were about to cry.

“I think you should leave Gil,” Roderich spit out, shaking with the effort. He stared at Gilbert in the eyes. “You should go.”

“Not until you tell me!” Gilbert growled, his grip on the Austrian’s shoulder bruising. But Roderich’s tear-filled, lavender eyes kept their cold and aloof expression behind the tears. Gilbert wished he could just wipe it off of his face. He wanted to see Roderich’s emotions, he wanted to have the Austrian crying in his arms, spilling his heart out to him. He wanted it so badly it hurt.

But Roderich wouldn’t budge. He stared at Gilbert with that icy expression, his decision made. “Roderich…” Gilbert murmured, feeling his own throat close up as he brought his hands up to hold his face in his palms gently. Roderich shivered ever so slightly but his eyes didn’t waver.

Gilbert dropped his hands and turned away, passing by the sheet music, the violins, the piano, to slowly walk back out into the sunlight that held no warmth.

He glanced at the sky. It could only be a few minutes past noon. Too early to go home. So he sat on Roderich’s front steps, not caring if he saw him or not. He put his face in his hands and rubbed his stinging eyes.

What, so after we leave this place, Roderich isn’t coming with us? The thought of leaving Roderich behind, alone and forgotten made Gilbert want to cry out in frustration. Was there really no way for him to leave? Why wouldn’t Roderich let him help, why did he always push him away? He remembered the feeling of Roderich’s cheek in his palm and he clenched his hand into a fist.

He drew his knees up and rested his forehead on them, wrapping his arms around his knees, grateful for the shadow of the front veranda. He closed his eyes, warring against the pain that threatened to rise up and overwhelm him.

He knew nothing about the supernatural, which made him feel basically worthless and that scared him. He wasn’t used to not being confident in something. And with Roderich, Gil felt the need to be as bold and cocky as possible. He wanted to take care of the delicate man. But how could he do that when he couldn’t begin to comprehend his situation?

Gilbert didn’t notice when he fell into a doze, his mind powering down for a few hours. It wasn’t the most comfortable position in the world but he found comfort in the discomfort – if that makes any sense at all. All he knew was that when he jolted back up, the sun was beginning to set and that he almost fell back down when he tried to stand up.

He slowly walked home, rubbing his back which was a bit sore from sitting in such an awkward position for a long time. As he walked down the street, he glanced up to see Alfred striding towards him, a fierce frown on his face. Gilbert smiled softly at his expression as Alfred looked up and noticed him. They made their way home in silence, Gilbert’s mind still back at the mansion.

Matthew was bustling around the kitchen when they got back and Gilbert watched him as he quickly served chicken salad for the three of them. He looks stressed, Gilbert thought to himself but he didn’t ask what was wrong. The dinner was unusually quiet and as soon as it was done, Gilbert headed up to his room, Alfred following close behind into his.

Gilbert sat at the window seat with one foot up, the other dangling down to the ground, his back leaning against the wall. He watched as the sun set at around eight o’clock while the full moon rose to take its place.

He watched the big hunk of rock glow in the reflected light from the sun as it rose higher and higher into the sky. One hundred and forty-nine years…Gilbert thought, gritting his teeth together. The stupid man hadn’t explained what he was! Gilbert hit the back of his head against the wall behind him in anger. He can’t have expected Gilbert to just take that bombshell and let it go. Was he never supposed to see him again? Was he supposed to just leave him behind to waste away inside the dusty mansion with only spiders to listen to his music? He was meant to just walk away without any explanation? Gil snorted, determining that he would go straight to Roderich’s first thing to morning.

He had just decided that when he heard the door of Alfred’s room beside him slowly swing open. Curious, Gilbert crept to his own door and cracked it open. He saw Alfred tiptoe down the stairs, obviously hoping he wouldn’t run into anyone.

Gilbert watched him go with a smirk. He was probably going to that doctor’s house. He was about to close his door again when the thought struck him: why put off till tomorrow what you can do today?

He soon found himself striding quickly down the street towards the mansion. He didn’t see Alfred anywhere so he assumed that he had already disappeared into the doctor’s clinic.

Turning around the now familiar corner of the Laundromat, a sudden fear struck him. What if Roderich didn’t want to see him? Would the mansion be hidden from his view? Panic filling his heart, he broke into a jog, almost gasping in relief when he broke out of the shadows to see the huge mansion still standing where it always was, bathed in the eerie light of the bright moon.

I guess he still yearns for someone to play music with, Gilbert thought, quietly approaching the front door. Even if he wants nothing else, that much is enough, right?

He grasped the door handle and quietly swung it open, the hinges soundless. He shut the door behind him gently and paused in the entrance way, unsure if he should look upstairs for the Austrian. He decided to glance into the music room, just in case.

He slowly stepped through the doorway to his left into the huge room. The curtains were still thrown back and the cold moonlight flowed in through the windows, casting strange shadows throughout the room.

It was in one of those shadows that Gilbert saw Roderich. He was standing in the shadow of the large grand piano, staring down at its black surface, his expression hidden from view.

“Little Prince?” Roderich’s head snapped up in the darkness at Gilbert’s quiet voice. His glasses reflected the little bit of light reaching them.

“W-Why are you here?” He demanded in a shrill voice, backing up as Gilbert stepped towards him. Gilbert stopped at the tone with which Roderich spoke. He sounded as if he was scared out of his mind.

“Roderich?” He asked, taking another slow step towards the man who shrunk away. “Roderich! Don’t run away!” Gilbert narrowed his eyes in annoyance, stepping around the piano so that they were only a few feet away from each other. Roderich stayed in the shadows.

“Don’t come near me,” he said in a shaky voice. There was something strange about the way he spoke that Gilbert couldn’t quite place. His tone was higher, more airy, with an almost echoing quality. He’s scared out of his mind, Gilbert reasoned.

“Roderich, it’s me,” Gil gently said, reaching out his hand to touch the Austrian who cried out.

“Don’t touch me!” He shrieked, leaping back, landing in a bright patch of moonlight.

He was glowing.

No, wait, not glowing, the moonlight was shining through him. He was translucent, outlined faintly but insubstantial, beams of cold light passing through his body as if they were passing through air.

Roderich froze, his now colourless eyes widening behind his glasses. Gilbert swallowed hard and stepped towards him, reaching out a hand to caress the other man’s cheek.

His hand passed right through.

A ghost…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata is gorgeous too.  
> Go look it up on YouTube!


	8. Part 3: Burning, Chapter 7

Chapter 7:  _La Vie en Rose,_ Part 3

It was almost as if they were lovers.

Every day Matthew would wake up in Francis' bed, the Frenchman having already left to go tend to his roses. The man never slept as he didn't need to but he always insisted on lying in bed with Matthew. Mattie would then go downstairs and make breakfast. To be honest, their days didn't really seem to have changed much from before Francis' secret was revealed. Francis still flirted, Matthew still blushed and Mattie still looked after the upkeep of the house. However, now there were stolen hugs, kisses and bites sprinkled throughout their day.

These little touches of affection made Matthew's skin tingle, his heart leap. He found himself wanting  _more_ of Francis, to have him all to himself all of the time. He didn't know how much of that infatuation was his own personal feelings and how much of it was caused by the drug or venom that Francis injected into his veins every time he bit him. He just knew that the more Francis touched him, the more he wanted to be touched; the more his body craved to be touched. So much so that he was practically throwing himself into the vampire's embrace come nightfall when Francis would quietly knock on Matthew's door, motioning for him to follow him up the stairs to his bedroom.

Francis tended to be rather rough in bed but Matthew didn't mind it. He clung to the cold, firm body that seemed as if it was carved from marble. Francis was able to reduce the Canadian into a shaking, exhausted heap by the time he came and Matthew loved every second of it.

Not having the highest confidence or the most outgoing personality in the world, Mattie had never really had many relationships in his twenty-two years. The fact that this older, handsome man wanted him was a feeling that he didn't really have any experience with at all. Matthew found himself forgetting that Francis was a vampire, allowing a sense of comfort and happiness find him and hold him as the man held him in his arms. He forgot – until he felt fangs gently pierce his skin, sinking into his neck and filling him with desire.

All throughout this however, thoughts of the future tortured his mind. What would happen to them when they got out of here? Because they'd have to leave eventually right? They couldn't be forced to live here forever. What would become of this… _thing_ between him and Francis? Matthew wasn't really sure what there really was between them but he could feel himself be drawn deeper and deeper into the relationship, drowning in the blue expanse of Francis' cool gaze. He was getting lost and he wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way back out again.

xXx

About a week after Matthew had accidentally discovered Francis' secret, he was in the dining room, sweeping the hardwood floor with a broom.

The gramophone was on, an old Parisian song from the fifties quietly filling the air. Matthew was thinking about dinner for that night. He had learned that he didn't need to cook for Francis as he didn't need to eat but lately Alfred had also been absent from the dinner table. The past few nights had just been Gilbert and Matthew sitting at the table, the musician strangely pensive.  _Alfred's probably at Arthur's house most of the time,_ Mattie thought with a small smile, sweeping under a chair. Both of his friends had become more distant during their time here and Matthew wasn't complaining. Before they had both been way too protective of the Canadian, standing up for him and speaking for him when their help wasn't needed. Now it seemed that they both had other things that took up the majority of their thoughts, which was perfectly all right.  _I am capable of taking care of myself,_ Matthew thought, reaching to sweep out a corner.

Suddenly two arms snaked around Matthew's waist from behind, one arm grabbing the broom from his grasp and leaning it against the wall before returning to tightly squeeze the Canadian. Matthew felt his heartbeat speed up as he smiled and leaned back into Francis' chest.

"You work too hard  _mon Cherie,"_  Francis murmured in Matthew's ear, making him shiver. Matthew turned his head to glance up, his violet-blue eyes soft.

"You need to stop distracting me Francis, otherwise I will be cleaning for twice as long." Francis smiled and spun the Canadian around to face him, grasping him tightly to his chest.

" _Ma petite femme,"_  Francis said affectionately, pressing a kiss to Mattie's blond hair. Matthew tilted head up invitingly and Francis pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Matthew melted into his embrace, his eyes fluttering closed.

He heard the gramophone switch to the next song and Edith Piaf's voice began to once again resound around the small room like it had on Mattie's arrival at the hotel. Francis leaned back a bit, a charming grin on his face.

"Will you give me the honour of this dance,  _mon cherie?"_ Matthew blushed but smiled shyly up at him.

"Of course."

So they danced around a tiny invisible circle, Matthew's arms over Francis' shoulders, the Frenchman's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him close.

As Matthew held onto Francis, his cheek resting against his shoulder, the worry he had been feeling suddenly came storming back, making Matthew bite his lip in agitation. He didn't want to voice his fears to Francis as he didn't want him to think that he was clingy or needy.

Francis noticed Matthew stiffen slightly in his arms and he brushed a kiss across his cheek. "Are you okay Mathieu?" He murmured. Matthew's eyes opened in surprise, his mind scrambling for a topic that would explain his occupied thoughts.

"Ah, yes…Um I was just wondering about the – uh, boxes!" Francis made a questioning sound at the back of his throat as they continued to slowly turn. "Yeah," Matthew continued, realizing he had been wondering about this a bit as well. "Those women in the photos. Who were they? What happened to them?"

This time it was Francis' turn to stiffen slightly. He chuckled. " _Es-tu jaloux, mon chère?_ " Matthew blushed, shaking his head slightly, his head still resting on Francis' shoulder.

"No, I was just wondering…There were quite a few boxes." He felt Francis shrug a bit.

"It has been quite a few years. A few long years." Matthew couldn't argue against that. He wrapped his arms tighter around the Frenchman, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

"Where did they all go?" He asked quietly, pressing a soft kiss onto the cool skin of Francis' neck.

Francis sighed slightly. "I left them behind  _mon cherie_. It was only inevitable as I will never grow older. One falls away and another will come again in time, woman or man. It is a never-ending cycle Mathieu. One that I am doomed to repeat."

Matthew felt as if an ice-cold bucket of water had been dumped on him and he clung to Francis in desperation.  _A never-ending cycle?_ Did that mean that Mathieu wasn't the end?  _He said it himself, he will never die, you idiot. Of course he can't be with you forever._ Matthew felt sorrow pierce his heart as he swallowed past the lump growing in his throat. He let out an unsteady breath.

"How did you get turned into a vampire, Francis?" He asked in his usual quiet voice. Francis didn't seem to notice that the music had drifted away into silence or that Matthew's voice trembled as he spoke.

"I was a young penniless man on the streets of Paris," he said. They had stopped dancing. "Let us say that I got caught up in the wrong deal with the wrong people and I ended up lying half-dead in an alleyway. That was when a tall hooded stranger showed up before me, gave me a cup of blood to drink and left me there." Matthew straightened so he was looking at Francis face-to-face. He frowned.

"They just left you?" Francis nodded, his blue eyes far away, his hand still gripping Mattie's waist.

"It was painful and terrifying and when I woke up the next day, still in the alleyway, I was so confused. I eventually discovered that I had fangs and that I didn't get hungry for anything other than human blood." Matthew shuddered and played gently with the hair at the nape of Francis' neck, feeling pity for the Francis of back then.

"I never killed anyone," Francis said quietly, trailing his hands up Matthew's sides. "I broke into a hospital one night and stole the blood that they kept their. Afterwards I travelled all over the world, searching for others like me." Matthew looked him in the eye.

"And did you?"

Francis slowly shook his head, one hand reaching up to run itself through Mattie's hair. "I never found any other vampires," he said quietly. "But I did find other supernatural creatures which was almost just as good." Francis at that moment looked so lonely that Matthew couldn't stop himself from taking his head in his hands and pressing a deep kiss onto the Frenchman's lips.

Francis slammed Matthew into the wall behind them, his tongue pushing into the Canadian's mouth, his hands dipping down to pass underneath his shirt, travelling back up along his bare chest. Matthew's mind was full of Francis, all he tasted and smelled was Francis, all he wanted was Francis.

But even as Francis kissed him, he knew that his heart and permanent affection couldn't be won. The thought pierced Matthew with grief and he wrapped his arms around Francis' neck tightly, pulling him in close, melding their bodies together.

 _I can't give him up,_ he thought as Francis began slowly unbuttoning his shirt.  _I don't want him to leave me._

xXx

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a slow and quiet haze for Matthew. His hips hurt from the impromptu sex-against-a-wall that Francis had gavin him and he really didn't feel like moving quickly or talking much so he pretty much kept himself busy in the kitchen, meticulously wiping down countertops and organizing the cupboards.

Every now and then his gaze would shift over to the cellar door and his mind would fill back up with insecurities. In the silence of his afternoon, with Francis out in the yard or upstairs in his room, Mattie's mind was agitated with thoughts of him and Francis and their future.

He thought about Marie and Belle and Annie and all of the others, both male and female, that Francis had had over the course of his long life. Had they all felt like him at some point? Wait, did they even know that Francis was a vampire? Matthew's circumstances were strange. He wasn't supposed to have ever found out. It was a fluke that he was even in Dis let alone staying in the same house as a vampire. Had Francis kept this secret from his past loves as well?

The thought that maybe Mattie was the only one who knew made him feel a bit better, but anxiety still rolled through his stomach.

Gilbert wandered in at four-thirty from outside and Matthew noticed that his face looked drawn and sad. He leaned against the counter, watching Mattie chop carrots for the stew he was making.

Matthew glanced at him out of the corner of his eye but he didn't ask him what was wrong. He knew Gil wouldn't appreciate questions from him at the moment, judging from the almost distraught look in his eyes.

It was another quiet dinner, neither of them speaking, Alfred's empty seat looming beside them. Matthew stared at his soup, both his body and heart aching.

At around nine o'clock he retreated up to his room, Gilbert having already disappeared an hour before. He lay down on his bed after pulling on his pyjama pants and sweater, staring up at the ceiling, a small frown on his face.

He had come to a conclusion. No matter what kind of drug Francis was injecting in him every time he bit him, it didn't matter. Matthew wasn't a slut. He  _knew_ that his body would never react so strongly and passionately towards someone unless there were genuine feelings on his part.

"I love him," Matthew whispered to the empty room, the white ceiling blurring a bit as his eyes burned with unshed tears. He curled into a tight ball on his side, his glasses digging into his cheeks but he didn't care. He loved a vampire, a creature that would live on forever. Matthew couldn't let him leave him. He had to stay by the Frenchman's side. Francis was lonely, he could see it. All those years…even if he had someone, knowing he could never keep them. He might as well have been alone for his whole life. Mattie couldn't let him continue like that. He couldn't let Francis be alone anymore.

He didn't think about how he could accomplish this, seeing as he was still a mortal. His only thoughts were those of Francis and his desire to be his one and only for the rest of his life.

Matthew jumped at the quiet knock at his door.  _Francis…_

He climbed out of bed and quickly opened the door to see Francis slipping on up the stairs. Matthew closed the door behind him and followed close behind.

When they got into Francis' room, the Frenchman made no move to undress Matthew. They had already had sex once today so Mattie was a tiny bit relieved as he sat on the bed beside Francis. He leaned against his shoulder.

Francis caressed Mattie's cheeks. "Are you tired,  _mon Cherie?"_ Matthew kissed his shoulder through his shirt.

"A little bit," he admitted with a small smile, gazing up at the Frenchman's handsome face. Francis smiled and drew back the covers a bit, allowing Matthew to slip in underneath them. He soon followed suit, lying down beside the Canadian.

Matthew turned to face him on his side. "So early Francis? You have the whole night yet." Francis gently stroked his cheek, the cool touch making Matthew shiver.

"It's fine," he murmured. "I like to watch you sleep." Matthew blushed furiously and looked down. He felt Francis shift closer to him and wrap his arms around his waist and tangling his legs up with his own.

Matthew drew closer to him, not feeling the iciness of his body thanks to his sweatshirt. He gazed seriously at Francis' face, closely examining the clear-cut features.

Francis smiled at him gently. "What is it, Mathieu?"

"I love you." As soon as the words left Matthew's lips, his mouth snapped shut. He hadn't meant to say it like that! He watched in distress as Francis' eyes widened and his smile turn into an 'o' of surprise. Francis' arms stiffened around him.  _Oh shit,_ Matthew thought in terror.  _Was I not supposed to say that? Does he not feel the same way about me?_

He watched helplessly as Francis slowly sat up, one of his hands trailing heavily down Mattie's body before finally lifting up off of him.

Matthew propped himself up on one elbow and placed a hand gingerly on Francis' back which was now facing him. "F-Francis?" His voice was a mere whisper.

A small sigh came from the Frenchman as his shoulders slumped. "It always end like this doesn't it?" He stood up. Matthew felt fear and confusion wash over him. Why was Francis overreacting like this? What did he do wrong? What was Francis' problem? "You should go, Mathieu."

Matthew leaped out of bed and dashed in front of the Frenchman and stood facing him, hands on hips, his violet eyes narrowed and his legs trembling. "What?" He cried. "You cannot just say something like that after I…after I  _confessed_ to you." Francis was regarding him with a small frown on his face, his blue eyes tired and cold.

"I really think you should leave," Francis said emotionlessly, not moving towards or away from the Canadian.

Matthew shook his head vehemently. " _Non!"_ He said firmly, his heart breaking. "Not until you tell me why you said that. I don't want this to end. It can't end. You have to take responsibility for this. I lo-" Then Francis had the neck of his sweatshirt in his hand and slammed him into the far wall, lifting him up a bit with a strength that was not human.

"F-Francis…" Mattie choked out, the breath knocked out of him. He stilled at the expression now on Francis' face. His blue eyes were no longer cold. They were now resigned and sorrowful.

"Don't make this any harder Mathieu," he spit out. "Do not make me do something I will regret for eternity."

Matthew tried to swallow, his wind pipe slightly constricted. "W-what will you do?"

Francis placed a hand on Matthew's cheek, his eyes still sad but his mouth hardening. "I will erase your memory  _mon Cherie._ Now, willingly forget me or I shall force you to."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Es-tu jaloux - Are you jealous?


	9. Part 3: Burning, Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A note about the timelines:  
> So, up until this point, all of the timelines of the stories have been pretty consistent, more or less. That changes now so it's just something to keep in mind. Eg. Whereas Part 3 of La Vie en Rose starts about a week after the full moon, Part 3 of A Tameable Beast starts right the morning after. All timelines will coincide by the end though :)

Chapter 8: A Tameable Beast, Part 3

Alfred woke up to find himself in a strange room on a strange bed. He stiffened in fear at first before relaxing, realizing that he was still in Arthur's room.

He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table.  _Only 5:45 in the morning…_ he thought, looking out the still open window at the dark world outside. He slowly stood up on tired limbs and walked over to the window, breathing in the fresh, cool morning air. The stars were just now beginning to fade as the sky began to become grey.

There was no sign of the creature – no, Arthur – from the night before. Alfred ran a heavy hand through his tousled blond hair as he turned away from the window, slowly walking out of the room.

He plodded down the stairs, lost in thought, his head bowed, his eyes pensive behind his glasses. Walking out the door of Arthur's clinic and turning towards home, he replayed the scenes from earlier that night in his mind.

So…Arthur was a fairy? Or something like that? Alfred swallowed hard as he turned up the path to the hotel, walking mechanically past Francis' sweet smelling roses.

He had tried to fucking  _kill_ him. He had pressed that sword to his throat as if he hadn't recognized him, as if he was some sort of beast or wild animal.  _But his eyes…_ Alfred argued to himself as he very quietly opened the front door and stepped inside of the still-dark house.  _His eyes were Arthur's. His eyes totally recognized me when I told him that I loved him…_

Shit. He had told him that he had loved him.

Alfred stopped at the bottom of the stairs and rubbed his forehead wearily. Had he meant it? Or was that just some primal instinct inside of him, to save his own skin and think of nothing beyond that?

As Alfred slowly crept up the stairs, he pondered these thoughts in his tired brain, Arthur's handsome face popping up constantly, green eyes, bushy eyebrows and all. Alfred slipped into his room, heart heavy and body tired.

Lying back on his own bed, still fully clothed, he stared up at the ceiling.  _Where did he go?_ He wondered.  _God I hope he's okay…holy shit, was that permanent?_ Fear suddenly clutched Alfred's stomach as he pondered the thought of Arthur living like that for the rest of his life.

 _But…he can't leave Dis right? He has to come back home…or at least he will if he is still human._ Frankly, it made Alfred's head and heart hurt to think about it so he rolled onto his side, took off his glasses and curled into a ball, falling into an uneasy doze as the first hints of sunrise peeked over the horizon.

xXx

Alfred slowly woke to find late afternoon sunlight streaming through his window. He groaned as he stretched, gradually moving into a sitting position, taking a moment to clear his thoughts and rub his sleep-filled eyes.

Grabbing his glasses from the bedside table, he stood and rifled through his drawers, throwing on a black tank-top and blue jeans. He went into his bathroom to wash his face, brush his teeth and run a comb quickly through his messy mop of blond hair before slowly plodding down the steps.

He thought he heard voices in the kitchen and his stomach suddenly rumbled in hunger, reminding him that he hadn't really eaten the night before. Alfred made his way through the dining room before entering into the kitchen door, though he stopped in the doorway. Leaning against the granite island, his back to him, was Matthew. Looking down at him with a seductive smile on his face with his hands propped on either side of Mattie was Francis, his face looming dangerously close to Matthew's.

Alfred frowned. "Hey! Frenchie!" Francis glanced up in annoyance to glare at the American while Mattie whirled around to face him, his face very red. Alfred walked up to the counter so that he was standing across it from Mattie.

"You okay man?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at Francis who looked back at him indifferently.

"A-Alfred!" Matthew stuttered, his violet eyes wide behind his glasses. "There you are! I-I thought that you had left early this morning…" At Alfred's questioning gaze, he cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine Alfred. It's okay." Alfred suddenly felt defeated, looking at one of his best friends falling in love without him, leaving him behind. His thoughts turned back to Arthur…no, not turned back to him. They had always been there.

Alfred sighed and stepped back. "Where's Gil?" He asked. Mattie shrugged as Francis turned around to wash something in the sink.

"He was around this morning but he disappeared just a little while ago." Alfred nodded and backed out of the kitchen, anxiety suddenly filling his stomach, replacing the hunger that had been there moments before.

"'Kay, I'm out," he said, turning towards the front door and stepping outside into the warm summer afternoon. He stared at the sidewalk underneath his feet, not stopping himself from taking the well-known route to Arthur's clinic.

He stood outside the front door staring at the sign for a good five minutes.  _Oh fuck,_ he thought, panic beginning to fill him.  _Why did I come? I don't want to see him. What if he's still like…that? Oh god…_ But then came a very tiny voice at the back of his mind:  _You love him you idiot._

Alfred felt sick as he slowly opened the door, the little chimes ringing. No one greeted him in the front lobby and a quick glance into the examining rooms showed them to be empty. So Alfred swallowed hard as he turned his gaze to the stairs that he had climbed up the night before. How different his emotions now were.

He climbed the stairs, not bothering to be quiet. As he got to the top he took a deep breath. "Arthur?" He called, ashamed at how his voice shook a little bit. He heard a movement from Arthur's bedroom whose door was now closed.

However, it suddenly opened, and there was Arthur, once again human, staring at Alfred like he was seeing a ghost. The first thing Alfred noticed was how  _tired_ the Brit's eyes were. Those beautiful green eyes that had stared at him from the strange alien body yesterday. Yes, they were exactly the same.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Arthur's quiet and shocked voice pierced through Alfred's examination. Alfred opened his mouth and for once didn't know what to say. What could he say? "Why the hell did you come back?" Arthur asked incredulously, not making a move to step towards Arthur. "Go away." Alfred pushed back his shoulders and frowned, trying to look angry.

"Not until you explain to me what happened last night," he said sternly, glaring at the Englishman. Arthur glared at him, his green eyes wary.

"You saw didn't you? I tried to kill you. What else do you want?"

"But you didn't," Alfred interjected. "You didn't kill me. Whatever you were then was trying to kill me, but  _you_ stopped it. Why?" Arthur didn't answer. "Was it because I said I loved you?" Arthur's face turned suddenly pale as he took a step backwards, further into his room. Alfred took a step closer to him, pushing Arthur back.

"Don't come near me," Arthur growled, but Alfred could tell his voice was shaking.

"What was that Artie?" Alfred said in an almost-whisper, drawing closer to Arthur so that they were both now inside of his bedroom. "What happened? What are you?"

Arthur stumbled backwards into the bed and sat down on it heavily, letting his head fall forwards to stare at the ground. Alfred stood in front of him, looking down at his sandy blond hair.

"I think I deserve to know," Alfred said in a soft but uncompromising tone. Arthur glanced up at him for a moment, his emerald eyes distressed, before allowing his gaze to drop back to the floor.

"I've…always been able to see the fairies," he started quietly, hands on his knees. "When I was a small child they would play with me in the woods behind the home in the English countryside where I grew up. They would show me magic and wonderful things beyond the imaginings of normal humans. It was amazing.

"But as I got older, I realized that I was the only one that could see them. Whenever I would talk to my parents or my friends about fairyland and the small men with wings that could do magic, they would look at me with amused stares, probably thinking that I was half out of my mind. It wasn't until I reached my thirteenth birthday that I realized why I was able to see them." Arthur glanced up at Alfred again, his gaze distant. "Have you heard about the Seelie Court?"

Alfred frowned. "Like…the Mortal Instruments?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Something like that. Anyways, both the Seelie and Unseelie Court must always have a representative from the human world as a part of their ritual meetings on every night of the full moon. When I was born, the Seelie Court chose me to be the next representative."

"Why you?" Alfred interrupted. Arthur shrugged heavily, avoiding Alfred's eyes.

"The area where I was born was well-known for its folklore and magical history. It is mostly just random chance though. We representatives are not immortal, we have normal human lifespans. So, when I turned thirteen, the present human representative died, leaving me to take their place. On that full moon, I was subjected to the transformation. I was terrified, naturally, as I saw myself turn into one of the creatures that I had played with as a child. I was the same as them, yet I was different. I carried a sword with me and my skin and hair were of different colours. But I had the wings, the pointy teeth, the long limbs…everything. The only thing that stayed the same were my eyes." Alfred found that he was holding his breath so he slowly let it out.

"It isn't a painful transformation, only disorienting." Arthur's tone was detached, emotionless, his green eyes staring at the floor. "However, during the point when I transform to the point when I disappear into the fairy realm, I cannot recognize anyone. If anyone gets in my way, I treat them as an enemy, aiming to kill."

"But you didn't kill me," Alfred broke in. Arthur glanced up, his eyes sad.

"That was a fluke," he said simply. Alfred frowned, his blue eyes narrowing.

"No it wasn't! You recognized me when I told you that I loved you. You  _understood_ me. Don't tell me you didn't." Arthur got to his feet and stepped around the bed to look out his window so his back was facing Arthur.

"It's a miracle that you're not dead right now," Arthur spat out. "I go berserk, Alfred. You can't be in the same room as me otherwise you will die. That won't ever happen again. Believe me. It doesn't matter who you are. I will kill you."

Alfred clenched his fists as he approached Arthur whose back was still facing him.

"I don't believe that, Artie," he said lowly. "I think you didn't kill me because you heard what I said. You feel the same way about me that I do about you. Don't you, Artie?" Arthur was silent. "Don't you?" Alfred could hear the plea in his own voice as he gently placed a hand on Arthur's back. He couldn't not have Arthur. Arthur would never hurt him. It didn't matter if he was human or a fairy-human cross or whatever. Alfred wasn't afraid.

Arthur stiffened at his touch but didn't move away. His shoulders slumped. "It…doesn't matter if I feel the same way or not." Arthur's voice was so low, Alfred had to strain his ears to hear it. "I can't risk the life of someone close to me. I can't put someone I love in harm's way again." Alfred's heart fluttered at the word 'love'. But the word 'again' made him pause.

"What do you mean again, Arthur? What happened?" Arthur didn't move.

"Ten years ago," he said, "my boyfriend of three months showed up at my house on the night of the full moon. I had always taken care to never be with him on the nights when I transformed but this time he showed up out of the blue. By the time he got there, I was already transformed, moments away from being taken into the fairy realm. When he opened the door to my room…I lost it." Arthur's voice trembled. "I-I stabbed him, Alfred." Alfred swallowed hard, his heart constricting.

"Did…did he die?" Arthur shook his head.

"No. But there was a lot of blood and he passed out. The fairies sensed something was wrong so they showed up and saw what I had done. Then the Fates came from out of nowhere and brought me here, erasing both my boyfriend's memories of me and also the memories of the rest of my friends, family and coworkers. I've been here for ten years and I don't want to leave." Arthur turned around to face Alfred. His green eyes were sad but his mouth was hard. "And I think you should leave Alfred."

Alfred looked at him in silence, his eyes running over the Brit's lean body. Alfred could see the sun beginning to set outside the window behind Arthur.

Alfred had seen Arthur's mental state when he encountered him. He definitely would have killed him if… _something_ hadn't stopped him. Was that  _something_ enough to base his trust off of? Alfred slowly reached out and cupped Arthur's cheek in his hand. The Brit flinched, his emerald eyes wary but he didn't back away, though his frown deepened.

"Artie," Alfred murmured. "I  _love_ you." Arthur's eyes flashed and he swatted Alfred's hand away.

"Goddammit you bloody American!" He growled. "Did you not just hear me? I will not be responsible for another accident like that. I  _won't_ have my entire life uprooted again. I can't. So just  _leave_!"

Alfred stepped closer to Arthur so that their chests were almost touching, causing Arthur to back up against the window. "You do love me," Alfred said forcefully, looking down at the Brit. "That is why you didn't kill me, even if you could've." Arthur stared up at him, his green eyes filled with angry tears.

"Who's to say that the same thing will happen again?" Arthur asked in a shaky voice. "The next time…I could kill you." Alfred leaned down closer.

"You won't," he whispered before roughly pushing his lips against Arthur's.

 


	10. Part 3: Burning, Chapter 9

Chapter 9:  _ Salut d'Amour,  _ Part 3

Gilbert yanked back his hand from Roderich's face in shock, his fingers twitching from the strange sensation. It was almost as if he had passed his hand through mist.

"R-Roderich…?" He stared at the spectre that the musician had become, his breathing shallow with shock. Roderich's silver eyes were wide and fearful behind his glasses.

"I-I didn't want you to know…" he whispered, his altered voice echoing and insubstantial.

"What the hell?" Gilbert asked, his voice sounding weak and shocked even to his own ears. "But I just saw you a few hours ago! I touched you! You're telling me you were a…ghost…then too?" Roderich shook his head slowly, his scared gaze melting into one of resignation.

"I have a physical body during the day," he said in a quiet and eerie voice. "However, during the night, this is what I become." Gil was having trouble understanding what the Austrian was saying.

"What the fuck Roderich? What happened to you? What are you?" Roderich stared at Gilbert with a pained look on his now translucent face.

"I'm dead, Gil," he stated simply. "I've been dead for a hundred and twenty-four years." Gilbert had sort of expected this response.  _I mean, he's a freaking_ ghost! But he still felt his heart begin to crack.

He tried to chuckle lightly. "Aren't dead people supposed to be, like, you know, dead? Gone? In the ground or hell or heaven or wherever?" Gilbert was pissed when he heard his tone waver at the end.

Roderich glanced out the window that was letting in the moonlight. "It's a rather long story." Gilbert crossed his arms and stood firm.

"I've got time." Roderich motioned for him sit on the piano bench which was sitting in the shadows. Gil slowly lowered himself down, watching as Roderich moved – holy shit was he floating? – to stand a few feet away beside a table covered in sheet music.

"I was born in Vienna in 1865," he said, his echoing voice permeating the moonlit room eerily. "Born into the aristocracy, I learned the piano at a very young age and quickly became what everyone else deemed to be a prodigy. By the time I was fifteen I was giving concerts in concert halls and salons all over Europe."  _I knew he had to be a prince,_ Gilbert thought with a small, emotionless smirk.

"When I was eighteen, my parents arranged a marriage for me with a young Hungarian noblewoman named Elizabeta Hedervary. She was only sixteen at the time." Roderich gazed down at the table, not making a move to touch the sheet music, knowing that he wouldn't be able to. "We were both so young," he said quietly, not lifting his head. "Little did anyone realize that at the time, I was completely married to my music. I gave Elizabeta a small baby boy to cherish before I began touring Europe once more. I was away for months at a time, coming home for only a week or so before heading back off." Gilbert's heart clenched at the pained tone that entered Roderich's voice.

"It isn't necessary to point out that Eliza grew bitter towards me. The love she sought for from me was never given, the praise and attention never received. I was young and foolish and thought that I had the world at my feet. And as I continued to think that, Eliza's love and hatred for me warred in her, creating a torture in her mind that left her half-mad." Roderich glanced up at Gilbert. "Her parents took away our child with my consent, leaving her alone in that huge house we owned just outside of Vienna. This one, in fact," he said, motioning to the room they were in. "And I, being stubborn and prideful, thought that she just needed a few weeks to herself where she could be alone and relax. I went on tour again."

Roderich dropped his gaze back down to the table. "It was a foggy night in Paris," he said quietly. "It was right after a very successful concert and both I and my carriage driver were both a little bit giddy from drink. He was racing along the cobblestone streets, the carriage lurching around corners. Out of nowhere came a carriage coming in the opposite direction. There was a crash and I was thrown from the carriage window where I slammed into the side of a brick building. The impact immediately broke my neck and I died instantly." Gilbert swallowed down the horror in his throat. So Roderich actually  _had_ died. Gilbert felt his hands begin to grow clammy. He felt the pain in his chest increase.

"Everything was black for an indeterminate amount of time," Roderich said, his voice now almost emotionless. "Then, suddenly, I found myself back in my mansion at Vienna. I saw Elizabeta receiving a telegram from a servant that spoke of my death. I tried to call out to her, I even moved to touch her but she couldn't hear or see me or feel me. At first, she was in denial and I feared for her sanity. But then, to my surprise, she accepted the news and asked to see our baby. A few days of wandering aimlessly around the house later, confused and going out of my mind, my son arrived back home. I watched as Elizabeta grasped the now two-year old boy to her chest, stroking the hair that he had gotten from me, silent tears rolling down her face. How I wish that I could've gone and embraced them…" Roderich's voice broke for a second. He stared down at the table strewn with music and took a deep breath, beginning again.

"My funeral came and went. I saw my body be brought past the windows to be buried in the family plot behind a hill near the house. I didn't understand what I was doing there at the mansion at the time. I wandered the rooms, looking over the memories of the past, regret slowly eating its way into my heart as I noticed little bits and pieces of my life that I hadn't bothered to see before.

"A week or so after the funeral, Elizabeta and our son moved back to her parents' house. My mansion was eventually abandoned by the servants and I heard them whisper about Elizabeta's upcoming marriage to some Hungarian nobleman. I was left alone, my house still containing all my possessions and instruments. I wandered there for many years, a ghost invisible to everyone, not able to pick up an instrument or sit at my piano. One day however, my front door opened for the first time in decades to reveal several unfamiliar men. I learned that my mansion was about to be destroyed in order for them to build a railroad through my property.

"I was obviously in a state of panic, wondering what would happen to me when my home was finally snatched away. It was in this state that the Fates appeared before me." Gilbert's eyebrows raised slightly.  _The Fates…finally._ "They were three very pretty but strange women," Roderich said, his tone flat now. "They told me that due to Elizabeta's extreme bitterness, hatred and intense love towards me, my soul had been bound to the earth, in my mansion to be exact. However, over the years, Elizabeta had apparently moved on in her life, marrying the nobleman and having several more children, letting herself slowly forget me, leaving me in a state of limbo. I was now held to earth as a ghost by a strong combination of regret on my part and the conscious disremembering on Eliza's."

Gilbert frowned. "Was there not something that the Fates could have done?" Roderich glanced up again.

"No," he said simply. "They only stated that this was how it was meant to be and that I could never leave this house. Knowing that the physical house was about to be destroyed, they created an identical one that rested in between both worlds. It was no longer in Austria but here, in Dis, before it became a town. I was here by myself, in the middle of a deserted land. It was a small mercy they gave that I could have a corporeal body during the day, but as soon as the sun sets, I become a ghost. Though I am now visible and can be heard as a ghost, I still cannot physically interact with anything or anyone. For that, I must wait until the sun rises again." Roderich fell silent.

 _He's done?_ Gilbert thought in shock. "That's it?" He demanded, slowly rising to his feet. "That is what you are now?" Roderich looked at him sadly but with a small smile on his face.

"That is everything," he quietly confirmed. "I have been like this for a hundred years, I will continue to be here long after you and everyone else is gone. When the barrier falls, which it eventually will, I will be here. Such is the product of my folly I suppose. Believe me, I have had quite a while to chew over my regrets." As Gil stepped forward, reaching out to him in desperation, Roderich stepped back, his silvery eyes filling with sorrow. "Please do not make me have new ones," he whispered.

Gilbert stopped where he was, one hand outstretched. His heart, which had been cracking throughout all of Roderich's story, finally broke in half at Roderich's request. He took a shuddering breath, not moving.

"I won't leave you here, Roderich." The musician smiled slightly.

"You cannot change this, Gil. I have had my time on earth and I destroyed it, along with the lives of others. If my punishment is to be alone for all eternity…" Roderich took a small breath, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Then so be it."

Gilbert made a move to step forwards again and then suddenly Roderich disappeared, quickly swishing past Gilbert to the other side of the room, in the corner with the darkest shadow. "There is nothing you can do." His voice echoed around Gil, driving him almost mad with desperation.

"Don't say that!" He called, straining to pick Roderich out in the blackness. "There's always something, there  _has_ to be something." No answer. "Roderich!" Nothing. "Roderich…?" Gilbert's voice faded away as he felt sorrow fill his body. He put a shaking hand to his face, shielding his eyes, trying to control his erratic breathing.

"Roderich," he choked out, ashamed at the tears that were burning the back of his eyes. "Please," he begged. "I-I love you."

He heard a quiet, shuddering sigh from the corner where Roderich supposedly was, but no voice answered him.

Gilbert couldn't stay there anymore. He almost ran out of the room, his head down and his shoulders hunched, brushing away tears that he refused to let show. He threw open the front door and ran out into the cloudless night, heading for home.

Back in the mansion, Roderich slowly crumpled to the ground, dropped his chin to his chest and wept, the shadows of the corner rendering him invisible, his sobs echoing around the room.

xXx

Gil hardly slept that night.

He immediately climbed the stairs to his room and closed the door quietly behind him. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, fighting the urge to strangle someone…anyone.

 _I love a man that's been dead for over a hundred years,_ he thought wryly, rubbing away the desire to cry.  _Of course it could never work out. Who the hell am I kidding? It doesn't matter how much I may love him, or however much he may love me. If he can't bend the rules than I sure as hell can't._

Gilbert was shocked by how much this realization hurt. He loved to be in control of situations, of being the one that usually knew what was going on, the one to take the credit for successes and ignoring the failures that sometimes came his way.

But this,  _this_ was something else entirely. This…falling in love, this whole supernatural, ghost, Fates thing – this was something that he had absolutely no control of. And it scared the shit out of him.

He lay on his back on his bed, light from the full moon shining through his uncovered window. He stared at the ceiling, his mind a blur. He pictured Roderich's beautiful face in his mind and he  _wanted_ him. He wanted him so bad it hurt.

But that picture was then changed to one of Roderich as he had just seen him: translucent, filtered through with silvery beams of moonlight, hiding his violet eyes, his dark brown hair, his deep purple tailcoat. A ghost, a phantom, whatever. He was dead. Even during the day, when he was in a physical body, he was still dead.

Gilbert slammed a fist down angrily on the bedspread, blinking back hot tears.  _Fuck._

Gilbert stared at the white ceiling until it blurred out of focus. He eventually fell asleep at around five o'clock in the morning, his dreams haunting him in more ways than one.

xXx

When Gilbert woke up, it was already eleven-thirty in the morning.

The first thing he thought of was, of course, Roderich. The reminder hit him in the stomach like a sledgehammer and he sighed heavily, dragging his body out of bed.

Quickly freshening up, he stumbled down the stairs to find Mattie at the table, standing next to it, staring at a pile of pancakes lying on a plate with his hands on his hips and a small frown on his face.

He glanced up as Gilbert walked in, his face donning a small smile. "There you are!" He exclaimed. "I had thought that you and Alfred had maybe already disappeared, skipping breakfast." Gilbert raised a tired eyebrow as he sat heavily in a seat, plucking a pancake from the plate and pouring on a bit of maple syrup.

"Al's not here?" He asked. Mattie shook his head.

"Nope, I haven't seen him."

"Maybe he's still sleeping?" Gilbert asked, slowly cutting the pancake into smaller pieces, his hands and mouth working mechanically.

Mattie hummed. "Hmm, maybe. I should probably go check…?" The front door suddenly swung open and Gil glanced up to see Francis saunter in. He noticed Matthew stiffen slightly beside him as the Frenchman walked up to them.

"Ah, Gilbert! There you are!" Francis exclaimed, walking up behind him and clapping him on the shoulder. Gilbert flicked the man's hand away from him and shoved a piece of pancake in his mouth. Francis chuckled and turned to Matthew.

" _Mon Cherie,"_ he said gently, "I would like to show you a new recipe for  _les crêpes_ that I think you will adore." Matthew cleared his throat.

"A-Ah! Of course!" He answered in a rather shaky tone. "G-Gil, do you want to join us?" Gilbert glanced back at Matthew and smiled at him.

"No thanks, Birdie," he said. "I'll try it when you're finished. I'm too awesome to be working in the kitchen." The attempt at his usual bravado sounded hollow to Gilbert's own ears but Matthew nodded with a small, sweet smile and he and Francis disappeared into the kitchen where he could hear Francis talking to him quietly.

Gilbert slowly finished his pancake, not in the least bit hungry for seconds. He sat at the table for a little bit, looking down at his plate, empty now except for a few blobs of maple syrup.

In his mind, he was replaying over and over again Roderich's story, trying to find some way to convince himself that a life with the musician wasn't impossible. But each time, he found himself hitting a brick wall that refused to budge.

When he next glanced up at a clock that was ticking on the wall, he was surprised to see that it was now half-past one. He slowly pushed back his chair and stood, stretching a bit. He glanced into the kitchen to see Matthew and Francis bent over a bowl, a stirring spoon in the Frenchman's hand.

"Birdie, I'm going," he said. Matthew glanced up and smiled at him before directing his attention back to whatever it was Francis was saying. As Gilbert turned away, he couldn't help but notice how close together the two were standing. Sadness stabbed him in his stomach as he slowly made his way out the front door. Though he thought Francis was a bit too perfect and suave, he was just a little bit jealous that he and Matthew could form such a  _normal_ relationship. What he wouldn't give to have that with Roderich…

The early afternoon sun beat down on Gil's shoulders as he walked along, his head focused on the ground. In his mind, he was replaying every minute he and Roderich had spent together. Whether it had been playing music, arguing, talking, reading over sheet music or even Gilbert ceaselessly teasing the other, Gil had never before felt such… _completeness._

If he couldn't have Roderich, what was he supposed to do? Forget about him?

When Gilbert next looked up, he saw in shock that his feet had taken him to the Laundromat. Almost against his will, he started down the side of the building, emerging from the cool shadows into the blazing sunshine where Roderich's mansion still stood, shimmering in the sunlight.

 _The mansion that he, Elizabeta and their child lived in…_ The thought was like a knife in Gil's side as he slowly and reluctantly walked towards the house, up the stairs and quietly through the front door.

Gilbert was greeted by music.

He paused in the dark entranceway, closing the door behind him. He instantly recognized Elgar's  _Salut d'Amour,_ the song that he and Roderich had first played together when he had wandered into his house, only this time it was played using the arrangement for a solo piano.

Gilbert slowly stepped towards the doorway of the music room and peeked around the corner.

There was Roderich in his physical body again, but he was different from every other time Gilbert had seen him. He was bent over his piano, yes, but everything else was totally different. Gone were the long purple coat with coattails, the cravat. Roderich was dressed in a loose, long-sleeved undershirt, the ties at the neck to keep it closed loose, exposing a bit of Roderich's defined, marble-like chest. His hair was in disarray, flopping over his forehead in dark brown waves. His violet eyes were closed as his long-fingered hands danced across the piano, spinning out the nostalgic tune.

Gilbert leaned back against the wall, again out of sight and closed his eyes, his mind following the melody, heartache gripping him. It sounded so  _sad._ It was as if Roderich were pouring out his hundred years of regret and sorrow into this one song; this song that had been their first one to play together.

Roderich softly played the last chord, letting it fade into silence. Gilbert took a deep, shuddering breath before quickly entering the room.

Roderich's head shot up from where he still sat at the piano. His beautiful violet eyes widened in shock as he leapt to his feet as Gilbert strode towards him.

"G-Gilbert…?" He didn't have a chance to finish his question.

Gilbert walked up to him, grabbed Roderich's shoulder and drew him close, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing his hungry lips to the other's.

Roderich stiffened at first, his eyes widening in shock, a squeak escaping from his mouth. Gilbert used that opportunity to push his tongue into Roderich's mouth, reveling in the feeling. Roderich suddenly became pliant in his hands as the Austrian slowly wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck pulling their bodies flush together.

Gilbert poured all of his anguish, hopes, dreams and despair into that one kiss, memorizing the feel of Roderich's body against his, the touch of his tongue against his own. He clung to him as one who was drowning clung to a lifeboat. But Gilbert knew it couldn't last.

Gil was the one to pull away. He did so slowly, gradually lifting his mouth away from Roderich's, leaving the Austrian panting for breath, his violet eyes glassy. He dropped his arms away from Roderich's body, his own frame wanting nothing more than to take him back in his arms again. He slowly stepped away.

"G-Gil…" Roderich whispered, his eyes wild and hungry, his chest heaving underneath the thin cotton shirt. Oh god, Gilbert wanted him. He wanted him so  _badly. He isn't yours to have,_ he told himself, forcing his body to turn around and walk away.

"Gilbert?" Roderich called after him in a breathy voice. Gilbert kept going, leaving the music room and opening the front door, tears beginning to gather in his eyes.

"Gil-!"Roderich's last cry was cut off by the closing of the front door as Gilbert ran down the steps and across the yard, his tears finally breaking the surface and falling, disappearing into the hungry dust below his feet.

 


	11. Part 4: Ash, Chapter 10

Chapter 10:  _La Vie en Rose,_ Part 4

Matthew stared down at Francis, his eyes wide in shock, his breathing hampered by Francis' hold on the neck of his shirt that was keeping him propped up against the wall.

"F-Francis?" He choked out, his heart breaking at the dead and resigned look in the Frenchman's blue eyes. "What do you mean?" Francis sighed, slowly letting Matthew down back to the ground, though he kept him firmly against the wall still.

"Erasing your memory will make it easier for everyone if you cannot forget me on your own," he said, his lips pressed in a firm line. "This has gone on long enough. This game, this distraction. It was nice while it lasted but it is time for it to end."

Matthew couldn't believe what he was hearing. His violet-blue eyes suddenly started to sting, tears swimming on their surface. "A  _game?"_ He said in disbelief. " _Distraction?_ How  _dare_ you call my feelings for you nothing but a game?" His voice remained soft but the anger in his tone was unmistakeable.

Francis stared down at him, a small frown on his face. "Mathieu, I do not want to forcibly remove your memory. But if you persist in being difficult –"

"Why?" Matthew demanded, his eyes flashing. "Why are you doing this? I-I thought that you might have liked me, even if just a little." His voice grew softer and he dropped his gaze. "I don't understand," he whispered. Francis sighed, loosening his hold on Matthew's shirt slightly.

"You are human, correct?" Matthew glanced up again, a tiny frown on his face as he nodded. "As you have discovered, I am a vampire, yes?" Mattie nodded again, confused as to where this was going. "In other words," Francis explained emotionlessly, "as you should already have figured out by now, I will live forever and you will die in maybe sixty or seventy years." Matthew swallowed past the lump in his throat. Of course he had known that. But some small part of him had hoped that they would be able to stay together for whatever time they had.

"Yes," he whispered. "But Francis, I love you  _now._ Couldn't we be together for however long we have now?" Francis dropped his hand completely from the neck of his shirt and he gave a short bark of laughter as he turned away.

"Do you remember how earlier,  _mon Cherie,_ I told you that I was the one who had left those previous lovers of mine? How I was the one who had gotten out before anything bad happened?" Matthew nodded but he realized Francis couldn't see him so he made a sound of agreement in his throat.

Francis ran a heavy hand over the wooden footboard of the bed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "I lied, Mathieu. I never left them." He took a deep breath before letting out a long, pained sigh. "They were the ones that left me far, far behind."

Matthew felt his heart break as he heard sadness leak through the Frenchman's stoic façade. "What do you mean?" He asked quietly, not moving from his position against the wall.

Francis ran a finger across the footboard, his head bowed, waves of golden hair hiding his face from view. "I met Marie before I became a vampire," he said quietly. "She was very young but beautiful and I adored her and she loved me. At the time, I was a penniless young man so her parents didn't approve of us but we didn't care. We met whenever we could.

"After I became a vampire, however, she of course noticed my strange behaviour. In my fear, I eventually told her. At first she was incredulous but after seeing my fangs and watching me drink blood she accepted the fact. Obviously it was a big adjustment but she stayed by my side, even going so far as to defy her parents and move in with me, which was unheard of in those days. I was scared and confused but I believed that as long as we had each other we'd be okay." Francis sighed then and turned back around to face Mattie, his handsome, perfect face worn and sad.

"A few months later, she became pregnant. We were overjoyed at first. But then strange things began to happen. The baby inside her was apparently half of a vampire and it slowly but surely began to kill her from the inside. I was helpless as I watched her get weaker and weaker, her beautiful face becoming grey, her hair losing its luster. Then, one day, she died in her sleep after having coughed up blood the night before. The baby stopped moving and I assumed that it had died as well in its mother's womb." Francis took a slightly shaky breath as he put a hand on the footboard for support.

"After I buried her," he said quietly, "I lost it. I tried to kill myself, numerous times. It was then I realized that I could not die. No matter what I did to myself, however much I tried to cause damage to my body, I would always walk away without a scratch. The knowledge of the fragility of humans, of the finiteness of their lives, was what I took away from that tragedy. I vowed to myself that nothing like that would ever happen again, that I would leave before anything became too deep so I could avoid the inevitable pain it would bring me." Francis ran a hand through his long blond hair. "Up until you, Mathieu, no one else has discovered that I am a vampire. Every now and again, in one city or another, someone would catch my eye with whom I began a relationship with. But I always took care to control myself in their presence, to hide my true identity and as soon as I sensed them beginning to want a long-term commitment, like a family, I made my excuses and skipped out on them. I tried to convince myself that it was me that was doing the leaving but I knew that it was me being the coward, knowing that they would eventually leave me, one way or another."

Francis glanced up at Matthew and frowned, stepping towards him and placing a cold hand on his cheek. "It's been about twenty years since the Fates trapped me in Dis," he said quietly, looking down at Mattie solemnly. "I was in a…low point in my life, involved in things and deals that would probably shock you. I suppose this is my punishment, my curse for living life telling myself that I cared for no one." Francis dropped his hand slowly. "You broke all the rules Mathieu," he quietly whispered, leaning forwards to brush a kiss along Matthew's cheek, making the Canadian shiver in desire. "I was terrified when you found out that I was a vampire," he murmured, ghosting his lips over Matthew's ear. "But you responded to my advances, advances that I hadn't let myself try before, so well that I couldn't help myself." He bent his head to slowly slide his fangs across Matthew's soft neck, slightly breaking the skin. Matthew moaned softly.

"Francis…" he whispered, his violet-blue eyes large and looking at Francis with innocent and total love. "I love you." Francis' face fell and he sighed heavily, leaning away.

" _Mon Cherie,_ I do not want to do this. I will give you a minute to leave or else I will forcibly erase your memory." Mattie watched as Francis turned his back on him and walked over to the bed, keeping his gaze on the floor.

Matthew was a whirl of emotions. Francis' story was so sad. Always alone, never allowing himself to hope for a future with anyone, afraid of the pain it would bring him. Matthew felt himself grow sick with desperation to help him, to save him. He couldn't let himself forget Francis, he couldn't make himself forget him. The vampire was ingrained into his soul now. They were one. And Matthew could not stand by and watch Francis continue on this path of self-dependency and pretending that he felt nothing when it was clear that keeping such a distance from other people was hurting him terribly. So he remained where he was and said nothing.

Francis sighed and slowly turned around, his expression dark and sad. "Mathieu…"

"Turn me into a vampire," Matthew blurted out, the idea coming to him in a flash. Francis' eyes widened in shock before changing into a small and condescending smile.

" _Mon Cherie,"_ he said in his usual sultry voice, his blue eyes like ice, "you do not know what you are saying." Matthew frowned and shook his head vehemently.

" _Non,_ Francis," he said adamantly. "I want this." Francis laughed dryly but his eyes held no amusement.

"Do you mock me Mathieu?" He asked acidly, stepping towards the Canadian who had nowhere to run. "I could erase your memory in the blink of an eye." Matthew looked up at him, a bit scared but his voice was steady.

"You won't," he whispered, telling himself that he believed it. Francis gazed down at him and then his shoulders slumped. He brought a tired hand to his head, rubbing his eyes.

"You do not know anything, Mathieu," he said quietly. "You do not know the horror you have at first, the aversion, the disgust you feel towards yourself. You do not know the intense  _loneliness_ you feel when you think about remaining like this for the rest of eternity. You  _don't know._ That is why I cannot do this to you. This is why I can't have you ending up like I have." He opened his eyes to look down at Matthew's open and sincere face. Regret and sorrow raced across his features. "You can't."

Matthew slowly reached up to touch Francis' cool cheek, caressing it softly. "That was when you were alone, Francis," he whispered, never breaking his gaze with Francis' sad blue eyes. "You will have me now. You won't be alone anymore. I'll be with you forever." Francis stared down at the Canadian in shock, his blue eyes blinking away sudden tears.

" _M-Mais…_ your life, your family..." Matthew shook his head.

"I will have eternity to live many different lives with you," he whispered, reaching up with his other hand to cup Francis' head in between his hands. "I have no immediate family and no friends besides Alfie and Gil who will notice any difference." Francis' hands clenched at his sides, desire and fear warring in his eyes.

"I can't damn you to an eternity of this Mathieu," he whispered, his eyes filled with regret.

Matthew stood on his tiptoes to slowly press a kiss to Francis' lips. He broke away slightly, looking up into Francis' eyes, their breaths mingling together.

"Eternity with you is the farthest thing from hell that I can think of,  _mon chère."_ Francis let out a shuddering breath and tilted his head forwards to rest on Matthew's smaller shoulder.

"It is painful," he choked out into Mattie's shirt.

"The pain will only last for a little while," Matthew whispered, stroking Francis' hair. Francis wrapped his arms around Mattie's waist, pulling him close to himself.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, squeezing him tightly. "I never will, with a thousand lifetimes." Mattie held him tenderly, fear fluttering in his heart but love for the man in his arms squashing it down. If it meant he could both save Francis and allow them to be together at the same time, he would do anything.

Francis let him go reluctantly and disappeared into his bathroom. He came back holding a cup in his hands. He looked at Matthew, fear already beginning to gather in his eyes. " _Mon Cherie,"_ he asked, "are you sure?" Matthew touched his arm reassuringly and sat down on the bed, taking a deep breath.

"I'm ready," he said quietly, terror clutching his heart before he took a deep breath, calming himself down. He watched as Francis brought his own wrist up to his mouth and carefully made an incision there, allowing the blood to run down his wrist and drip steadily into the cup he held underneath.

When there was a layer of thick red blood about five centimetres thick in the bottom of the cup, Francis slowly handed the cup to Matthew. Mattie took it, annoyed to see that his hand was shaking.  _If Francis went through this alone,_ he thought determinedly, looking down at the cup of vampire blood he now held,  _then surely I can do it with him standing beside me._

Matthew closed his eyes, brought the glass to his lips and tilted his head back. The red liquid crossed his lips and he quickly gulped it down, ignoring the sickly iron taste, his stomach clenching in revulsion and fear.

The effect the blood had on his body was immediate. The glass slipped from fingers that began to shake uncontrollably, Francis barely catching it before it hit the floor. Matthew could  _feel_ the blood diffuse from his throat and stomach into his bloodstream, setting his body on fire. His body stiffened, his eyes widening in fear.

"F-Francis…" he choked out through trembling lips. Slowly and tenderly, Francis moved Mattie so he was lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Francis sat beside him and held his hand, his eyes sad and regretful.

"I'm so sorry Mathieu," he said quietly as Matthew trembled in the bed. "So, so sorry." Matthew took a shuddering breath, fighting to stay above the waves of pain spreading throughout his body. He shook his head and locked his gaze onto Francis'.

"No," he gasped, his lungs straining to find air in spite of his fear. "Don't say sorry. Say you love me, Francis. Please..." Francis' lips trembled and he bit them to stop himself from losing control over his emotions.

He bent down to embrace Mattie, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheeks which were already turning cold. " _Je t'aime, mon Mathieu,"_ he whispered hoarsely. " _Je t'aime avec tout mon cœur._  "

That was the last thing Mattie heard before his blood became fire, his vision turned red and a cry of pain left his lips.

**Translations:**

 

**Je t'aime, mon Mathieu. Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur - I love you, my Matthew. I love you with all of my heart.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Je t'aime, mon Mathieu. Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur - I love you, my Matthew. I love you with all of my heart.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the comments :) They seriously make my day!


	12. Part 4: Ash, Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Woops I wrote smut.

Chapter 11: A Tameable Beast, Part 4

Alfred pressed his lips roughly to Arthur's, holding him tightly against the window. Arthur's lips parted involuntarily as Alfred licked them, allowing Alfred access to his mouth which he gladly took advantage of.

He moaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing Arthur's and sending sparks racing across his body. He tangled his fingers in the Brit's shaggy blond hair, pressing closer, needy and hungry for more.

Arthur was helpless against Alfred's kiss, his hands finding their way up to grip the front of Alfred's shirt, holding onto him helplessly for a moment before gasping and jerking his head away, hitting the back of his head on the window.

"What the hell Alfred," he gasped, his green eyes wild, desire and terror warring in them. "We can't – "

Alfred sucked in his breath angrily, tightening his hold on Arthur's shoulders. "I don't care about the risk," he growled, putting his face close to Arthur's, locking his gaze with his. "I believe in you. We can do whatever the fuck we want and I _know_ that you will never, ever hurt me." Arthur's eyes filled with tears as he took a shuddering breath.

"God, Alfred, you don't know that…" He closed his eyes briefly, pain etched into his tired face. "We can't…"

Alfred grabbed Arthur's face roughly in his hands, glaring at him with angry eyes. "I  _know_ it, I said," he whispered vehemently. "We can do anything." With that, he once again pushed his lips to Arthur's.

It took Arthur only a few seconds to submit to him, a few last tears escaping from his closed eyes before he wrapped his arms around the American, drawing him closer to him, opening his mouth invitingly.

Alfred moaned as their tongues touched, his desire for Arthur growing exponentially as his tongue swept around the inside of the Brit's mouth, making Arthur shiver in his arms, pressing ever closer to him.

"I want you Artie," Alfred whispered breathlessly against Arthur's lips. Arthur clung to him, his hands tangling in the American's dark blond hair.

"Then take me," he said shakily, his eyes glassy. Alfred didn't need to be asked twice.

He once again captured Arthur's mouth with his own, wrapping his arms around Arthur's shoulders, lifting him a bit off the ground. Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, bringing his legs up to wrap themselves around Alfred's waist.

Alfred stumbled backwards from the window, still locked in a passionate kiss with Arthur who was still clinging to him. He felt the back of his knees hit the side of the bed and he sort of fell down onto the bed, ending up in a sitting position in the middle of the bed with Arthur sitting on him, straddling his lap.

Alfred broke the kiss to begin trailing hungry nips and kisses along the Brit's jaw and neck, his hands beginning to wander down the front of Arthur's button-down shirt. Arthur trembled in his hands, tiny gasps escaping him. Slowly, Alfred began undoing the buttons of Arthur's shirt. One by one he slowly undid them, exposing Arthur's pale but well-toned chest and stomach. As the last button came undone, Alfred's greedy hands swept up and across Arthur's chest, his lips still pressed to Arthur's collarbone.

He brushed a nipple with one hand, making Arthur moan. Alfred looked up to see the Englishman flush in embarrassment, his eyes glazed with desire and his breathing erratic. Alfred grinned and brought his lips to one of the pink nubs, licking it gently before lightly nipping at it, making Arthur catch his breath, his hands tangling into the American's hair.

"A-Alfie…" Arthur panted. The nickname only served to turn Alfred on even more. He glanced up, pausing in his teasing. Arthur was looking down at him with a small frown on his face.

"You too," he whispered, stubbornly plucking at Alfred's t-shirt which still covered his body. Alfred pressed a kiss to Arthur's lips as his hands caught the hem of his shirt in his fingers, breaking away so he could pull it over his head, exposing his muscled chest and abdomen. Alfred shivered as Arthur gently touched him, pulling him back closer to himself. Alfred placed kisses in a trail along Arthur's chest as Arthur buried his head in Alfred's hair, shivering slightly.

Soon, Alfred's hands dipped down below Arthur's waistline, brushing Arthur's half-erect member, making Arthur jerk in surprise. Alfred quickly unbuttoned the Brit's jeans and, with Arthur's aid, divested the Englishman of his pants and undergarments. Arthur shuddered as his exposed erection brushed against Alfred's bare chest.

Alfred looked at the man before him, his eyes taking in every line, every muscle. He reached up to softly touch Arthur's face. "You're beautiful," he whispered, his throat choking up at the thought that he might have lost him.

Arthur tried to frown at him, tried being the key word as his face revealed how much he wanted Alfred to touch him; which Alfred readily complied with.

He used one hand to bring Arthur's lips down to his own while his other hand gently grasped Arthur's half-hard member. Arthur moaned into their kiss, his eyelids fluttering, his kiss becoming sloppier. Alfred gently moved his hand up and down his shaft, feeling it stiffen under his ministrations. Soon Arthur was completely hard, panting heavily.

Alfred took a shaky breath, feeling his own erection press against his pants. "A-Artie," he whispered in a trembling voice, "touch mine…?" Arthur pressed his lips to Alfred's neck as he slowly undid Alfred's jeans, causing Alfred to gasp as his hands brushed his straining cock. Arthur moved aside Alfred's boxers, exposing his rapidly hardening member, grasping it in an unsteady hand.

"T-Together?" Alfred asked, burying his face in Arthur's chest. He felt Arthur nod as he brought their erections together, both of them moaning at the contact. Alfred started to quickly rub them both together, up and down the shafts, pressing the slits, wiping away the little dots of precum that leaked out.

Arthur was gripping onto Alfred's shoulders, his hand hanging, panting heavily. "A-Alfie…" he said in a husky voice, "stop…I'm gonna cum…" Alfred let go of the erections, his mouth returning to press love bites onto Arthur's white skin.

"You're mine," he growled, swiping his tongue across his chest, making Arthur cry out. Alfred moved a hand around to the back of Arthur's naked body, his index finger slowly tracing Arthur's entrance, making Arthur stiffen.

"Do you have anything…?" Alfred asked huskily. Arthur leaned over to grab a jar of hand cream lying on his bedside table.

"This," he commanded breathily, pushing it into Alfred's hands. Alfred obediently opened the jar and quickly spread some of the cream on his fingers and swollen cock, his hands clumsy. Again he reached around Arthur to begin to press a finger into Arthur's entrance.

"Relax," he whispered to the Brit as he slowly pushed his finger past the ring of muscles, his cream-covered finger sliding in easily. Arthur gasped as Alfred's finger entered him, his green eyes going wide. He gripped Alfred even tighter as he slowly slid in a second finger, gently scissoring, trying to relax the muscles and make his entrance wider.

Alfred pressed a deep kiss onto Arthur's lips, distracting him as he put in his third finger, slowly thrusting all three fingers more deeply into Arthur. Arthur cried out against his lips as he felt Alfred's fingers inside him. Alfred crooked his fingers slightly, pushing them farther up, searching for Arthur's sweet spot.

As soon as fingers brushed it, Arthur jerked forwards, burying his head in Alfred's neck, his lungs emitting a loud cry. Alfred pulled back his fingers a bit before pushing them back in, aiming for the same spot. Arthur moaned in pleasure as Alfred hit his prostate.

Alfred began to feel his neglected erection most acutely as he listened to Arthur's erotic moans. "Artie," he whispered, bringing his lips up to the Brit's ear, "can I put it in?" Arthur scoffed a bit as he tried to rock back onto Alfred's fingers.

"Don't say it like that you git," he muttered breathily. Alfred withdrew his hands which were now coated with both cream and Arthur's precum. He slathered it over his own erection to make it more slippery.

Glancing up at Arthur, he saw that the Brit was looking down at him, still with desire, but also with a trace of fear. "I'm scared, Alfred," he whispered. Alfred didn't answer as he grabbed Arthur's lips to his own once more and brushed his tongue against his. He grasped Arthur's hips and helped him raise up slightly, aligning himself on Alfred's waiting cock.

Arthur slowly lowered himself down onto Alfred, inch by inch. Alfred groaned in pleasure as he felt how  _tight_ Arthur was around him, his muscles clenching around him, making him feel as if he could cum at the slightest movement. Arthur grimaced slightly as he took in Alfred's length. Soon, Alfred was all the way inside. Arthur waited until he was comfortable, his arms wrapping around Alfred's neck.

At Arthur's nod, Alfred slowly began to thrust, lifting up his hips slightly and then bringing them back down before pushing in again. Arthur slowly did the same from above, moaning a bit as their bodies broke apart and then came back down again.

Arthur's neglected erection stuck up in between the two men, precum slowly leaking from the tip. Alfred grasped it and began to touch it, moving his hand from the tip to the base and then back up again. Arthur moaned at the sensation, his hips moving up and down quicker, Alfred also trying to find Arthur's sweet spot again.

When he hit it, Arthur cried out in pleasure, his head jerking back. He began to move more violently all by himself, thrusting himself down onto Alfred more than Alfred was thrusting up into him. Alfred frowned and suddenly pushed Arthur backwards, guiding them both until Arthur was on his back, lying underneath Alfred who put Arthur's legs up and over his shoulders.

"Mine," he whispered into the Brit's ear as he began to thrust into Arthur furiously, still pumping Arthur's erection in his hand.

It didn't take long for either of them to reach their orgasm. Arthur was first, his seed splattering from between Alfred's fingers over both of their chests, crying out, Alfred's name on his lips. As he came, he clenched tightly around Alfred, causing Alfred to cry out as well, a wave of white-hot pleasure washing over him, spilling his seed deep inside of Arthur.

Alfred kissed Arthur passionately as they both rode out their orgasms, coming down from the sexual high. Finally, Alfred slowly pulled out of Arthur and collapsed on the bed beside the Brit who hadn't moved.

He wrapped his arms around Arthur tightly, both of their bodies sweaty and sticky. They stayed that way for a long time, neither of them willing to break away from what they had just created.

xXx

The next week or so was one of the happiest of Alfred's life.

He barely went home to the hotel anymore, opting instead to eat his meals and sleep over with Arthur. He returned to the hotel only once or twice a day to get fresh clothes or check up on Mattie and Gil. But to be honest, he was so wrapped up in his own world with Arthur that no other thought could really register with him.

They had sex. And a lot of it. And they had it everywhere: in bed, in the shower, on the examining tables in the clinic, against the wall. Alfred couldn't get enough of Arthur; of his body, his lips, his eyes, his laugh, his voice. He wanted it all and he wanted it all the time.

In the sleepy glow of after-sex, Alfred would talk drowsily about their future life together, once the barrier came down.

"I have a home in the countryside in Ohio," he told Arthur, a week after they had come together. They were lying in bed, arms wrapped around each other, having pulled on their boxers after having had sex in the shower. "We can stay there while I finish university. The commute isn't very long and then once I graduate I can join the local law practice in the small town that's about ten minutes away. And you can make your own clinic! The town is so small that we don't have one yet so everyone has to drive forty-five minutes away to get to a doctor. It's perfect!" He said, squeezing Arthur tightly.

Arthur had his head on Alfred's shoulder, one finger lazily tracing a circle on Alfred's chest. He didn't say anything.

"Artie?" Alfred asked, glancing down at Arthur, running a hand through the Brit's soft blond hair. Arthur placed his hand flat on Alfred's stomach, watching it move up and down as Alfred breathed.

"How can you be so optimistic?" He asked quietly, his expression hidden from Alfred's view. "How can you be so sure that everything will work out so… _perfectly._ Especially what with my condition." Alfred frowned and lifted up Arthur's head so that he was looking straight at him. The Brit's face was pensive but soft, only a slight fear clouding his emerald eyes.

Alfred smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "You have me, Artie," he said quietly. "That's all you need. As long as we are together, we don't need to worry about anything else." Arthur smiled then, his lips turning up in a small smile as he wrapped his arms around Alfred and squeezed him tightly, pressing his lips to Alfred's neck.

"I love you Alfred."


	13. Part 4: Ash, Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *blushes* woops again...

Chapter 12:  _ Salut d'Amour,  _ Part 4

Gilbert spent the next week in a limbo.

He meandered in and out of the hotel, sleeping in late, crashing early. When he wasn't in bed, he was roaming around the town, searching for deserted places where he could just sit and not talk to anyone. It turned out that there was an old chapel behind the convenience store and pharmacy that was dusty and full of cobwebs, long out of use. It had rows of old wooden pews and a beautiful but dust-covered, pulpit on a carpet-covered stage at the front. Old stained glass windows lay in the wall behind the pulpit, looking over the sanctuary. There was also an ancient organ in a little pit next to the stage, horribly out of tune, but still in working order.

It was often here that Gil found himself, sometimes reclining on the pews, watching dust motes float through the air in the beams of sunlight that the stained glass windows let in, sometimes sitting up on the pulpit, feeling very sacrilegious but not giving a fuck, and sometimes pushing a few keys of the old organ, hearing the pipes groan as they produced a slightly mangled sound.

It was seldom that Gilbert did this last one though. Lately, he hadn't felt any desire to play anything. He couldn't even whistle. It was as if the music in his life had evaporated, along with the love that he had had for Roderich.

_Roderich…_

No, not the love that he  _had_ had. The love that he  _still_ had. Gilbert loved him so much and it hurt. My god, did it hurt. He constantly replayed his kiss with Roderich, recalling every single little insignificant detail: the way the late afternoon light had found little streaks of auburn in his dark brown hair, how tight his grip around Gilbert's neck had been, how soft and yielding his lips were around his, how firm and strong his chest and shoulders were under Gil's hands. All these small details turned around and around Gil's mind, driving him to distraction.

He  _knew_ it was stupid to pine after a man that could never be his. Hell, Roderich wasn't even  _alive._ The thought made Gil's heart clench in pain.

This was so unlike him and he knew it. He was always the person to go out and take action, to get what he wanted no matter what the consequences to others were. But this time there was nothing,  _nothing_ he could do. His mind became a sea of despair, his heart torn into two.

This was the state of mind he was in a week after he had discovered what Roderich was. He walked slowly back to the hotel in the late afternoon sunlight after having spent a late morning and afternoon lying around in the chapel with no one but his tortured thoughts for company.

He slowly clomped up the front porch steps and opened the front door, entering the slightly cooler interior. He wiped his shoes off on the mat by the door and then he heard the chopping noises coming from the kitchen.

He wandered through the dining room and into the kitchen where Mattie was chopping carrots and putting them into a boiling pot on the stove. Mattie smiled at Gilbert when he walked in but he didn't say anything. Neither did Gil.

Gilbert leaned against the counter and watched as Matthew chopped up vegetables for the stew he was making, looking but not really seeing.

 _What if I never regain my desire to play?_ He thought, the idea filling his heart with fear.  _Music is all I've ever wanted to do my whole life._ A tiny, tiny part of him whispered:  _Just forget about him. It isn't worth the pain you feel because there's nothing you can do._ While half of him silently urged him to do so, the other half's heart broke at the thought of forgetting the beautiful musician. How could he forget someone who had come to mean so much to him?

 _Unwilling to forget but unable to move on,_ he thought in wry despair as Matthew stirred the stew.  _Great._

Dinner was quiet, Alfred's chair empty for the seemingly sixth straight night in a row.  _Alfred has Arthur now,_ Gilbert thought, slowly sipping his stew, hunger avoiding him.  _Birdie has Francis._ Resentment coiled through his stomach as he glanced at the blond who was quietly bent over his bowl across from him. He immediately regretted his anger as he saw how tired the Canadian looked, how worried and pensive his eyes were.  _Birdie's not having it easy either,_ Gilbert thought, frowning back down into his stew.

 _Why did it have to be us that got trapped here?_ He thought angrily.  _What did we do to deserve this? I just want everything to go back to how it was. I wish I had never met Roderich._

Even as he thought those words, he knew it was all a total lie. He would never trade the time he had spent with the musician for anything. Because they got trapped in Dis, he was able to meet the first person he had ever really loved. It was just his fate that that love could never work out.  _The Fates,_ he thought bitterly.  _This is all their fault. Fuck them._

Gil and Mattie finished dinner slowly, Gil bringing his bowl to the sink for Mattie to wash. Mattie quietly thanked him as Gil glanced at the clock. It was now seven-thirty. Dusk had settled over the town as Gilbert stepped outside into the clear night, gazing up at the stars.

How much brighter they seemed, out here in the middle of nowhere.  _Bright and cold,_ Gil thought, his eyes seeing their beauty but not registering it, shivering despite the warmth of the night. He lowered his head and trudged back into the house and up the stairs, into his dark room.

He collapsed backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the waning moon not yet risen outside his window.

"Roderich…" he whispered as his eyes fell shut.

xXx

_Late afternoon sunlight was streaming into the music room when Gilbert walked in. There, standing at the window, was Roderich, who turned to look at him, a soft smile on his face. His coat was nowhere to be seen, again just dressed in his loose cotton undershirt and breeches._

_Gil walked over to him and took his face in his hands, bringing their foreheads together, staying like that with his eyes closed, not moving. Gilbert breathed in the scent of Roderich: he smelled of sheet music, instrument grease and lavender, his cheeks soft beneath his hands._

_"Gil…" Roderich whispered, his breath tickling Gilbert's mouth. Gilbert opened his eyes to find Roderich's beautiful violet eyes staring back at him, full of emotion. Gilbert held his gaze, his fingers playing with the dark hair at the base of the musician's neck._

_"I love you," Gilbert murmured fervently. "Roderich…" He said his name like a prayer, closing his eyes again to brush a kiss across Roderich's cheek, over the bridge his nose and finally, lightly across his soft lips._

_Roderich sighed in his arms and he leaned forward, reaching up to guide Gilbert's lips back to his own. He wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck, pulling him against him tightly. Gilbert moved his hands to circle around Roderich's waist, drawing him closer, opening his lips to trace Roderich's lips with his tongue. Roderich moaned softly and parted his lips, allowing Gilbert to push his tongue through into Roderich's hot mouth._

_Roderich's fingers tangled themselves in Gilbert's almost-white hair, pressing their faces closer together. Gilbert clutched Roderich to him, sweeping his tongue through Roderich's mouth, relishing the feeling of the Austrian trembling in his arms._

_Gilbert gently guided Roderich backwards until he had him pressed into a wall beside one of the windows. Roderich continued to pull Gilbert's head down to him, pushing his own tongue into Gilbert's mouth now, making Gilbert moan._

_Slowly, Gilbert parted Roderich's legs with his foot and stuck his leg in between. He gently applied friction to Roderich's half-hard erection, Roderich yanking his head back, his eyes flashing open as he moaned in pleasure. Gilbert used this opportunity to place kisses on the underside of Roderich's throat, Roderich's head automatically tilting back to allow him more access._

_Gilbert sucked and licked and nipped at Roderich while at the same time he continued to grind against Roderich's erection with his knee. God, the_ sounds  _that came out of the Austrian's mouth were enough to get Gilbert hard._

_He suddenly felt one of Roderich's hands leave his neck and travel down his chest until it paused at the waistband of his jeans. He sensed his hesitation so he gave his collarbone another kiss before reaching down with his own hand to guide Roderich's hand down into his boxers._

_He groaned as he felt Roderich's long fingers grasp his member, his mind going blank as he pressed a kiss to Roderich's shoulder through his thin cotton shirt._

_Roderich began to stroke his cock rhythmically, making Gil tremble with pleasure. He in turn let his hands trail down Roderich's side until they came back up underneath his shirt, sliding against his slender frame. Roderich gasped as Gil twisted one of his nipples slightly, his hand clenching on Gil's already hard member._

_Gilbert covered Roderich's lips with his again, roughly pushing his tongue in as his hand continued to play with his nipple, his other hand going down to squeeze Roderich between his legs. Roderich cried out, his body jerking. Gilbert quickly slid his hand down into Roderich's breeches and started rubbing Roderich's own neglected member._

_By now, Gilbert was seeing stars, pressing kisses that grew sloppier and needier onto Roderich's equally hungry mouth. Roderich momentarily broke away, his cheeks red, his eyes cloudy._

_"G-Gil…I'm going to come…" Gilbert pressed closer to him again, his hands moving twice as much on Roderich's vital areas._

_"Me too," he whispered hoarsely, kissing him again. God, he loved him._

_Roderich came with a choked cry, his hips bucking, spilling his seed into Gilbert's hands._

_As Gil came by Roderich's hands, he heard Roderich's voice, as if from far away, call to him:_

_"I love you, Gil. I love you…"_

xXx

" _I love you…"_

Gilbert's eyes flew open. He was back in his room in the hotel, the room still dark.

His heart felt empty. He reached up to rub his eyes and was shocked to find his fingers come away wet. He was  _crying._ Gil took a shuddering breath as he slowly sat up. That was when he felt the wetness in his pants.

Gil sat there for a moment on the bed, staring down at the covers, fighting back tears.

It had been a dream. Nothing but a fucking  _dream._ But it had been so real, so beautiful. The happiness that he had felt was so palpable he had trouble believing that it wasn't real.

Gilbert slowly slid off his bed and padded to his dresser to change his boxers mechanically. He then moved to stand by the window.

The third-quarter moon was still nowhere to be found which meant that it was still before midnight. He'd only been asleep for three hours or so, but it had felt like much longer.

Gil placed his forehead against the cool windowpane, a now familiar ache clutching his chest.  _I want it to be real,_ he thought in despair, reaching up to rub his stinging eyes that threatened tears.  _I can't just leave it like this._ Gilbert was not about to spend the rest of his life having erotic dreams about a man that had died over a hundred years ago.

 _There has to be_ something  _we can do,_ Gil thought, slamming his fist against the window in desperation.  _I love him too much not to try._ But Gil had no idea what he  _could_ try. To be honest, he had gone through half a dozen ideas that all seemed doomed to failure. He was on the verge of giving up but that dream that he had just had made him realize that he really could not just give in. If he did, he knew he would be tortured with that decision for the rest of his life.

Gil thought about what Roderich was doing right at that moment.  _He's a ghost right now,_ Gil thought, looking up at the stars.  _He's wandering alone among his instruments, lost in the memories of his past._ His eyes filled with tears once more.  _Am I a part of his memories now? Am I one of his regrets?_

That "I love you" that the Roderich in the dream had cried out told Gilbert how much he actually wanted the Roderich of now to say those words. He physically  _needed_ to hear them come from the Austrian's mouth.

Gilbert gave a shuddering sight, closing his eyes momentarily, allowing Roderich's face as it had been in his dream flash before his eyes: his cheeks flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead, his floppy brown hair sticking to him, his puffy lips parted in panting breaths, his violet eyes hazy with desire and filled with love.

 _Dammit Roderich,_ he thought, sinking to crouch beneath the window, his head buried in his knees.  _What are we gonna do?_

That was when he heard the cry of pain coming from upstairs.


	14. Part 5: Emerging, Chapter 13

Chapter 13:  _La Vie en Rose,_ Part 5

Matthew felt like he was slowly ascending through a hundred feet of water, trying to break through the surface. He was aware of two things: muffled and garbled voices coming from above him, and a burning pain in the back of his throat.

He broke the surface of consciousness with a gasp, his eyes fluttering open, his vision momentarily assaulted with bright artificial light.

"Oh god, Birdie? Birdie, are you okay?" Matthew heard Gilbert's voice but he couldn't respond, his vision trying to come back into focus.

"Mattie! Holy crap, you damned Frenchie, what the fuck did you do?"  _Alfred…_

"I told you already." Matthew's sight suddenly snapped back into focus as he heard that velvety, warm voice.  _Francis._ "He has been turned into a vampire." He felt a familiar hand gently hold his. "Mathieu,  _mon Cherie,_ are you okay? How do you feel?"

Matthew turned his head to see Francis sitting on the edge of the bed in Francis' room that he was still lying on. Francis was looking down at him with a concerned frown on his face, his blue eyes betraying his worry and fear. Matthew squeezed his hand, surprised at how hard it was to move.

"I…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. His throat felt as if he had been screaming. "Thirsty…" He mumbled, trying to sit up, his head still not completely together. Alfred was suddenly at his side, helping him to prop himself up against the headboard.

"I'll go get you water, Matt," said Gilbert, stepping towards the washroom, but Francis stopped him.

" _Non,"_  he said tiredly. "Mathieu does not need water. He needs blood." Mattie watched as Gil and Alfred's faces paled.

"You have got to be kidding…" Gilbert whispered.

Matthew felt the burn in his throat increase, his mouth getting drier, his head feeling faint. "Francis…" he said desperately. Francis looked at him worriedly before turning to Gilbert.

"Down in the cellar in the refrigerator are bottles of blood. Go bring one…" Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise and disgust.

"Fuck that!" He growled, stepping forward to grab Francis' collar. "If anyone goes to get it, it should be you." Francis sighed, his shoulders stooping. He shrugged Gil off and disappeared from the room. Mattie watched him go, still not entirely sure what emotion he was feeling at the moment.

He glanced at his two friends who were staring at him with distraught expressions in their eyes. "Where did you guys come from?" He asked quietly, licking his parched lips. God, he needed something  _warm,_ something  _alive…_ He shuddered at the craving, squashing down his fear and desire.

"I heard you scream from downstairs," Gilbert said, looking closely at Matthew, his reddish eyes tired and stressed. "I ran up here to find you thrashing on the bed with Francis standing there looking down on you. I ran and got Alfred from Arthur's house. He's downstairs at the moment." He shuddered a bit. "Francis said that you had told him to turn you into a vampire…" he trailed off, looking at Matthew with a questioning glance.

Mattie nodded. "I did," he said quietly, still not quite believing it himself.  _So…I'm immortal now?_ He thought.  _I'll never die? I'll be able to be with Francis forever?_ At first he didn't really think there was anything different about himself.

"Do I look like a vampire?" He asked his friends quietly.

"You're really pale," Alfred whispered. He reached across the bed to touch Matthew's cheek. "You're so cold…"

Matthew raised a hand to his mouth. He prodded his canine teeth with his fingers. Sure enough, there were now fangs hiding behind his lip, in front of his teeth. He extended them slowly, feeling them slip out and brush his lower lip.

Alfred and Gilbert gasped. "Mattie…" Alfred whispered, his blue eyes wide with shock. Matthew slowly held out his hands, his violet-blue eyes going wide.

"I-I won't hurt you," he said in his regular soft voice. "I promise…" He rubbed his forehead tiredly, at a loss as to how to talk to his childhood friends.

"What are you going to do, Matthew?" Alfred asked, a frown on his face. "Oh god, you're going to live forever! There's no reversing this, you know that? What about all of your plans? Your schooling?"

Mattie smiled softly. "I'll be able to get a degree in a thousand different things Alfred," he quietly said. "And yes I'll live forever, but I'll live forever with Francis. That is more than enough for me."

Alfred sighed, frowning. "Mattie, I can't believe you! You just met him…" Matthew frowned at him, his violet eyes narrowing.

"And you, Alfred? What about Arthur? Don't you dare tell me you wouldn't have done the exact same thing for him were you in my position." Alfred looked down at the floor, reaching up to take his glasses off for a second, rubbing his eyes.

"Ugh…" he groaned. "What has this place done to us?" Matthew glanced at Gilbert who was staring down at the quilt on the bed, a small smile on his face.

"Gil?" Mattie asked quietly. "Aren't you going to tell me how dumb I was?" Gil glanced at him and smiled, slowly reaching out to trace a hot finger down his cheek.  _So warm…_

"No," he said simply. "I think you chose the right thing if you knew that you would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn't." He dropped his hand slowly. "I envy you," he murmured, his face sad.

Mattie furrowed his brows. "Envy me? Why…?" Suddenly Francis entered the room, one of the bottles of blood that Matthew had discovered in his hands. He was followed closely behind by Arthur who went to stand beside Alfred next to Mattie's bed.

He placed his hot hand on Matthew's forehead, frowning in disapproval as he took it away. "Bloody Frog," he growled, looking across the bed at Francis with anger in his green eyes. "You really did turn him."

Francis didn't answer as he pressed the bottle of blood into Matthew's hands. "Drink it, Mathieu," he said softly. "It will make you feel much better." Mattie looked up at him, unease churning in his stomach before he nodded.

He slowly unscrewed the lid, aware that every eye in the room was fixed on him. He tried to keep his mind solely on Francis as he pulled the lid off.

Suddenly, he was washed over by the sweetest, most delicious scent he had ever smelled before. His mouth began to water uncontrollably as he inhaled the addicting smell, his nostrils flaring.

"Francis," he whispered in awe, his tongue licking his lips in anticipation.

"Go ahead," was Francis' quiet, encouraging answer. So Matthew brought the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back, allowing the cool, thick blood to run down his throat.

As soon as he tasted the blood, he knew that there was no turning back. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted. It felt as if he were drinking life itself and he knew that he could live off of this for the eternity he had to live. He took bigger and bigger gasping gulps, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as the blood cooled the fire in his throat, the hunger in his body.

Somewhere in the still-human part of his mind, he realized that he was drinking human blood and this repelled and disgusted him. Another part of him was slightly disappointed that the blood he was drinking wasn't fresh and warm, pumping out of his victim with each weakening heartbeat. But this new part of his nature, this nature that was now his, cried out in ecstasy as his desire was quenched.

He drained the bottle in a minute, lowering it with trembling hands, his breathing coming in ragged gasps.  _Wait,_ he realized suddenly with a start,  _I don't need to breathe…weird._ Breathing was habit though. Francis still did it too.

He looked up at Francis with a trembling smile on his face. "It was delicious," he whispered, his eyes alight innocently, his fangs showing.

Francis suddenly grabbed his face with his hands and brought their lips roughly together. Francis swept his tongue inside Matthew's mouth, lapping up every trace of blood left there. Matthew moaned, the bottle falling from his hands as he kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his neck. He was vaguely aware of the others staring at them but he didn't care.

"Mathieu…" Francis breathed against his lips, his fingers threading through Mattie's soft blond hair. "You're here? You're with me? You won't leave?"

Matthew kissed him softly, holding him close. "Yes," he whispered. "I love you."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a loud boom, a puff of smoke appearing by the bedroom door. Everyone jumped, their heads snapping in that direction.

Standing there were the two warlocks, Feliciano and Lovino. Feliciano was smiling brightly, bobbing on the toes of his feet. Lovino was yawning behind his hand, his eyes narrowed and grumpy.

"Ah shit!" Gilbert swore, sighing in relief when he saw who it was. "I thought I told you not to do that anymore!"  
Feliciano giggled, his brown eyes twinkling. "Ve, sorry Gilbert! We thought you wouldn't mind considering the news we have for you all." Francis frowned as he straightened, his hand lying protectively on Matthew's shoulder.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"It means," Lovino grumbled, "that the barrier has fallen. You are all free to leave, to go wherever you want."

Silence.

"A-Are you serious?" Arthur asked incredulously. Feliciano laughed.

"Of course!" He said cheerily. "Farewell!" He and Lovino turned around and began walking out the door.

"Wait!" Matthew cried, feeling his strength return tenfold as he leaped out of bed.  _This is what blood can do for you?_ "Why?" He asked. "Why is the barrier falling now?" Feliciano and Lovino looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

"Ve, we don't know," Feli said simply. "Only the Fates do. I suppose you should try to figure it out yourselves if you really want to question it."

Lovino nudged his brother. "Come on Feli. I want to get out of here. I haven't fucked that bastard Spaniard for twenty years." Feliciano laughed as they continued out the bedroom door.

"Ve, you're right Lovi," he said, his voice getting farther away. "Ah I can't wait to introduce Toni to Lud-" There was another bang as Feliciano's voice disappeared.

The five men standing in the room stared at each other in silence, their eyes wide. "Are they telling the truth?" Matthew finally asked, turning to look up at Francis.

Francis looked down at him with wide blue eyes before breaking into a grin and grabbing Matthew in his arms, swinging him around, a laugh bursting from his mouth. Mattie smiled and laughed happily, clinging to Francis' neck.

There came a loud whoop from Alfred who tackled Arthur, pressing his lips to the Englishman's who protested loudly, trying to break away.

No one noticed Gilbert as he glanced out the window and, seeing the sun begin to rise, looked down at the floor, slipping from the room.

"Ah, but Mattie, our car's fucked," Alfred reminded him, pulling back from Arthur who was red in the face, trying unsuccessfully to erase a grin from his features.

Francis laughed. "Never fear,  _mon ami,"_ he said with a chuckle, his arms still holding Matthew close to him. "I persuaded the Fates to allow me to bring and stow away my twenty-year old Lincoln in an empty garage just down the street. There is enough room for all of us and as soon as we return to civilization, I will buy you a new one." Alfred's eyes lit up.

"Woah, thanks Francis!" He exclaimed. "You da man!" He began to drag Arthur out of the room. "C'mon Artie," he said. "We gotta go pack up some of your medical stuff!"

A few seconds later and Matthew and Francis were alone. Francis bent his head to kiss Matthew deeply. Matthew sighed against his smiling lips, his eyes bright.

They were finally able to leave! Then the thought struck him: "Why now?" He asked softly, tilting his head back so that Francis could press kisses along his neck. "Why can we leave now?"

Francis softly licked his neck, making him shiver. He leaned back to look down at Matthew. " _Peut être,"_ he murmured, "it is because you made yourself like me in order to be with me." He brushed his lips over Matthew's cheek, holding him closer. "Maybe it was your sacrifice that saved us."

Mattie chuckled, smilingly slyly. "I wouldn't call it much of a sacrifice," he whispered, gazing up at the Frenchman. "Not when I get to spend the rest of our long lives with you." Francis made a small noise in the back of his throat when Matthew said those words, leaning down to push their lips together. Matthew parted his lips automatically, letting his tongue slide across Francis'. He still tasted the blood on his lips and on Francis' tongue.

"Make sure to bring lots of blood with us," he whispered huskily into Francis' mouth, who shivered.

"I love you, Mathieu," he moaned.

Mattie felt tears of happiness prick his eyelids. " _Je t'aime aussi,_ Francis…"

They were suddenly interrupted by Gilbert walking in.

"Sorry, Birdie," he said as Francis and Matthew jolted apart, their eyes glazed over and their cheeks red. He looked them seriously, his red eyes strangely emotionless. "I have something to tell you."

** Translations: **

**Peut être - Maybe  
Je t'aime aussi - I love you too**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Peut être - Maybe  
> Je t'aime aussi - I love you too


	15. Part 5: Emerging, Chapter 14

Chapter 14: A Tameable Beast, Part 5

Alfred pulled Arthur out the front door of the hotel and down the front steps into the cool early morning air. The sun was just now beginning to creep over the horizon, the sky a light grey, light pink colour.

Alfred's blue eyes were sparkling with excitement, a happy grin on his face as he dragged Arthur down the street to the clinic. "C'mon Artie!" He exclaimed, turning back to look at his lover with an excited laugh. Arthur was staring at him, an indulgent smile on his face.

Alfred burst through the front door and stopped in the middle of the waiting room, pulling Arthur around to face him, holding his two hands tightly. "I can't believe it!" He exclaimed, squeezing the Englishman's hands. "I was almost beginning to expect that we would be stuck in here forever." Arthur gave him a small smile before glancing into the hallway with the examining rooms.

"So," he said, pulling away, "my medical equipment?" He started to walk into the hallway when he was suddenly grabbed from behind, Alfred's arms snaking around his waist to press his back against his chest, holding him tightly against him.

Arthur stiffened at first. "What the hell are you doing?" He demanded, trying to wriggle free. "I thought you said that I should pack up my stuff!" Alfred then put his lips to the back of Arthur's neck, making him shiver.

"What is it?" Alfred murmured against his skin. "What's wrong?" Arthur sighed and leaned back into the American, melting into him.

"I was just wondering," he said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "Why are the Fates letting us leave  _now?"_ He let out a heavy breath. "I've been here for ten years for god's sake." Alfred tightened his arms around Arthur reassuringly.

"Maybe it's me," he suggested, his lips curving into a smile. "Maybe you can only leave because of me." Arthur chuckled in amusement, leaning back into Alfred's strong chest.

"Perhaps," he murmured. "Perhaps the only reason why I'm able to go free is because you were trapped here. I owe you my freedom." He reached up to trail his hand along Alfred's jaw, making him tremble. "No matter how much of a hopeless idiot you are. You helped me trust in other people and in myself again so I suppose you cannot be all that stupid." Alfred laughed quietly and turned the Brit slowly around, his hands coming up to frame Arthur's face gently.

"I love you," he murmured before leaning down a bit and softly pressing his lips to Arthur's. Arthur softened against him, his hands reaching up to clutch at the front of Alfred's shirt, bringing him down closer. Alfred felt Arthur's lips part underneath his and he took the invitation gladly, flicking out his tongue to touch Arthur's.

It was a slow kiss, calm and sweet, filled with promises for their future.

xXx

An hour later, Alfred and Arthur stood back in the waiting room, looking down at half a dozen cardboard boxes, most of which were now filled with the medical equipment that Arthur couldn't do without. Some boxes held Arthur's personal belongings but those weren't as numerous as Arthur didn't really have a lot in the first place.

Alfred nodded in satisfaction, his hands on his hips. "I'll go over to the hotel and ask Francis to bring his car here so we can load up the boxes," he said, beginning to turn towards the door.

At that moment however, the front door of the clinic flew open and Gilbert strode in, looking very agitated.

Alfred stopped in surprise. "Dude!" He exclaimed. "I was just gonna go over to the hotel. 'Sup?" Gilbert didn't answer right away. He looked from Alfred to Arthur to the boxes and back again, his reddish eyes wide, his breathing a little heavy and his white hair disheveled.

Alfred frowned at the expression in his friend's eyes. He looked…sad. And scared. But his eyes were also hard, as if he had just spent the past hour arguing and was now determined not to back down from the decision he had come to.

"Before I say anything," he suddenly spoke up, looking directly into Alfred's eyes, "I'll have you know that I just spent the last hour arguing back and forth with Birdie and he wasn't able to change my mind. And you know that I'm more likely to listen to him than to you so you shouldn't even bother trying, okay?" Arthur frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean, Gil?"

Gilbert stared at him evenly and swallowed hard. "I am not going back home with you guys. I'm staying here." Alfred wasn't computing what he had said. His mouth opened but no words came out, his mind racing, trying to tell itself that Gil had not just said what he thought he had said. Then there came a quiet sigh from Arthur by his side.

"Roderich." Alfred turned to Arthur, his eyes wide.

"Roderich? Who's he? Is he that musician?" He turned back to Gilbert. "What are you saying? Just get him to come with us! We can all leave! Why the hell do you have to stay behind? Don't be such an idiot!" Gilbert sighed wearily, pushing his hand through his hair, making it even more disorderly.

"He won't be coming with us," he stated simply, "because he is already dead." Alfred stared at him blankly.

"Wait, what?" He glanced at Arthur who merely nodded once. "What?"

"He's a ghost," Gil continued, in a voice that cried that he was stating the plain hard facts and nothing more. "And I love him." Alfred opened his mouth again and closed it again.

He frowned. "I'm…confused." Gilbert sighed again, his eyes becoming sad.

"I'm staying back," he said softly. "And if all goes according to plan, then I won't be able to leave town either." Alfred stepped towards his friend, his mind whirling. This was just way too weird.

"What about your schooling man?" He asked, struggling to find ways to show him that this was just a ridiculous idea that he thought up on a whim. "Your dream of becoming a professional musician? This guy can't be worth it. You've only known him for, what? Two weeks?"

Gilbert frowned in anger. "It's no different from Birdie!" He exclaimed. "His life will be totally changed now!" Alfred shook his head vehemently.

"It  _isn't_ the same," he protested, trying his hardest to persuade his friend that this idea was beyond insane. "Mattie hasn't given up his life! Not at all! In fact, he's going to be able to have multiple different ones! You aren't going to be able to have any! Don't you see what you'll be doing to yourself?" Alfred was now shouting, his frustration increasing.

But when Gilbert responded, it was in a very quiet voice that was uncharacteristic of the German. "I know that if I continue to live my life as I have always done, without him, I might as well have died before I had met him." He stared at Alfred, unwavering. "He is  _everything,_ Alfred. My life, my music; all of it." Alfred felt his knees quaking. He couldn't lose his friend…

He felt a hand on his arm. Arthur squeezed his arm reassuringly, his green eyes sad but stern. It was as if he were telling Alfred to  _let him go…_

He looked back at his friend helplessly, out of words, his eyes stinging. Gilbert visibly relaxed as he saw the defeat in Alfred's blue eyes. He stepped forwards and took his face in his hands, gently leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek. "Come back someday and look for me," he whispered in Alfred's ear as he pulled away and walked quickly out the door, turning left to walk down the street.

Alfred stood there frozen for a several seconds, his blue eyes wide, his mouth open, a protest dying on his lips. Arthur gently shook his arm. "Alfie?"

That was when Alfred came to himself. He dashed out the door and down the street after Gilbert. He saw him turn near the end of the street to disappear behind a Laundromat. "Gil!" He cried, racing after him. He ran to the building and raced around its corner, increasing his speed as he didn't see Gilbert in the alleyway.

"Gilbert!" The yell was torn from his lungs as he burst through the other side into the early morning light. He arrived on the other side just in time to see Gil glance back at him maybe fifty feet away, smile slightly and then turn away, taking a step. With that step, he disappeared into thin air.

"Gil!" Alfred raced to the spot where he had disappeared and stared at the ground around him frantically. "Gilbert! Gil!" His breath was coming in panicked gasps now. There was nothing.  _Nothing._ He had vanished.

"Gilbert…" Alfred moaned, sinking to his knees. "Fuck you," he whispered, pressing his hand to his stinging eyes. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You  _asshole."_

He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder as Arthur knelt beside him. He turned to press his face to the Brit's chest, his breathing erratic. "He left us, Artie," he whispered. "He left me, he left Mattie…" Suddenly he leaned back, his eyes going wide.

"Mattie…" He leapt to his feet and dashed back the way he had come. He heard Arthur following close behind him. He ran past the clinic and turned onto the front walkway of the hotel, leaping up the front steps and throwing open the front door.

"Matt-!" The first thing he saw was Mattie sobbing into Francis' chest as the Frenchman held him tightly in the front foyer. Matthew jumped when Alfred dashed in and he spun around, his violet-blue eyes wide and red from crying. He burst into tears again when he saw Alfred.

He flung himself into Alfred's arms. "A-Alfie-!" He choked out between broken sobs. "G-Gil…He left…" Alfred hugged Matthew protectively, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"I know, Mattie. I know." Matthew looked up at him, his lips quivering. "How could he do this to us?" He whimpered. Alfred pulled him closer to him, each of them seeking comfort in the other.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I just don't know." They stayed like that for several moments, Francis and Arthur staying back and looking at them, exchanging glances every now and then. The only sound was Mattie's heartbroken sobs.

Suddenly, the comparative silence was broken by Francis' voice. "Though it may seem selfish to us," he said quietly, his voice firm, "it was a conscious decision that Gilbert made himself. We do not have the authority to try and tell him what is best for him." He stepped forwards and put a comforting hand on Mattie's back. "Would you not do the same,  _mon Cherie?"_ He murmured. Matthew stepped away from Alfred's embrace slowly and turned to Francis. He put a trembling hand on the Frenchman's chest.

" _Oui…"_ he whispered, his tone still devastated, but his eyes clearing. Francis took him back in his arms. Arthur stepped towards Alfred and wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in Alfred's chest.

"What are you guys going to do?" Arthur asked quietly. Alfred sighed and held Arthur close to him.

"He doesn't have any family as far as I know," he said softly. "We'll have to try and figure out some way to de-enroll him from school…but I suppose that can wait until the time comes…"

"He said something about… _visiting_ him," Matthew spoke up, still holding onto Francis. "How can we do that when we don't even know where he went?" Francis threaded his fingers comfortingly through Matthew's blond hair.

"He's still in Dis _, mon amour._  The mansion that Roderich lives in is only visible to those whom the owners wish to see."

"That's why it looked like he disappeared into thin air," Alfred realized.

"Either way," Arthur said, stepping back from Alfred's embrace and looking up at him with a small smile on his face, "his decision is made. As has ours. And I think it's about time we act on it." Francis made a sound of agreement as he pressed a last kiss to Matthew's hair before releasing him.

"I shall go and retrieve the car." He glanced at Matthew. "Can you bring the boxes out front Mathieu?" Matthew nodded, giving Francis a tremulous but loving smile before slipping out of the room.

"Could you stop outside the clinic?" Arthur asked as the other three men walked out the front door. "I have boxes that need loading."

Francis nodded, turning right on the sidewalk. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Alfred and Arthur turned left and slowly walked down the street hand in hand.

"Will we see him again?" Alfred wondered out loud. Arthur squeezed his hand.

"Yes," he whispered comfortingly. He glanced up at Alfred with a smile on his face. "So…Ohio?" Alfred's eyes brightened a bit and he grinned back at him.

"Ohio."

As they reached the clinic however, Alfred paused, a frown crossing his face.

"Alfie?" Arthur asked, his hand on the door handle.

"Gil said 'if all goes according to plan'…" he said slowly. "What was he talking about? What plan?"


	16. Part 5: Emerging, Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Last chapter! This is my first big project that I actually finished and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Thanks for the support!
> 
> \- thosehetalianships

Chapter 15:  _ Salut d'Amour,  _ Part 5

 

 _Well, that could have been worse,_ Gilbert thought as he stepped onto the front steps of Roderich's mansion. He glanced behind him again to see Alfred run up to the steps, only two feet away and look around wildly, his lips mouthing Gilbert's name.  _He can't see me…_ Gil thought as he turned back around and climbed the steps.

All of the decisions that Gilbert had made in the past hour and a half were very sudden and drastic. When those two Italians had shown up, saying how everyone was now free to leave, and when the others had started celebrating and making plans, all Gilbert could feel was an overwhelming ache in his heart that threatened to incapacitate him with grief. He could only think of Roderich, being left alone in Dis for all eternity. Roderich: his heart, his music…he had become everything.

So, in a case of spontaneity that was not entirely foreign to him, he had proceeded to tell Matthew and Alfred that he would not be returning with them. That had been difficult. He knew his friends wouldn't entirely understand him but they had let him go, though it was a little unwillingly. He knew that he would miss them but compared to how much he would miss Roderich…no, there was no comparison. Gilbert knew his own heart and his feelings and he knew that he was in the right to go through with his plan.

 _Ah yes,_ he thought, pausing at the front door.  _Plan. I did tell them that I had a plan, right?_ He chuckled dryly, lifting a hand to rub his eyes as the sun began to rise higher in the blue morning sky. To be perfectly honest, he had no idea what he was going to do. Was there even a way for him to stay here? He didn't know if the Fates would allow him to stay with Roderich. He didn't know what would happen if he stayed and gradually became older and died.  _There has to be some way, right?_ He thought desperately. He swallowed hard and opened the front door and stepped through.

This time he was not greeted by music, but by voices coming out of the music room. Gil closed the door quietly behind him and stood in the foyer, listening closely.

"The barrier has fallen?" That was Roderich. Gilbert's eyes fluttered closed as he heard the voice that he had only dreamed about for the past week. He sounded tired and resigned.

"Yes." Gilbert jerked as he heard a voice he had never heard before. It was gravelly and sharp, almost inhuman. "The prisoners have been released. They are now on their way to freedom."

"Ah," Roderich said. "Everyone?" His voice sounded strained.

"We are afraid so," said another strange voice. This one was quieter but still vaguely inhuman, higher in pitch and soft.

Roderich cleared his throat. "A-And me? What happens to me?"

The next odd voice was almost kind as they spoke. "You know you were never bound here by the barrier in the first place. This house is what traps you."

"So?" Roderich's voice sounded resigned. Gilbert held his breath, hoping against hope that these people, who he had by now assumed were the Fates, would help Roderich in some way.

"There is nothing we can do for you," the first voice said emotionlessly.

"You cannot move on," the second voice quietly spoke.

"And you cannot go back." The third voice was almost apologetic. Those words stabbed Gilbert in the heart as he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"You will be trapped here for the rest of eternity." This was said by all three voices, sounding like they were speaking a curse upon Roderich, which they might as well have been doing.

"A-Alone?" Roderich's voice was shaky and quiet.

"Yes," said the first voice abruptly. "All alone." Gilbert couldn't take it anymore. He took a deep breath and walked into the music room.

"No," he said firmly as he walked in. "Never alone."

Roderich was standing by his piano, his purple jacket once again nowhere to be found. He was surrounded on three sides by the three voices who had been speaking. They were figures clothed entirely in black, their faces hidden by large cowls that overshadowed them.

Four faces swung towards him as he spoke and walked in; three with their expressions hidden, one with his expression of shock and fear and happiness plainly written all over his face.

"G-Gilbert!" Roderich cried, taking a step towards Gil before stiffening and remaining where he was. "What are you doing here? Aren't you going?" Gilbert let his gaze rake over the musician's body, taking him in with his eyes, memorizing him. But he didn't answer Roderich. He instead directed his attention to the three figures in black who were staring at him from out of the darkness of their hoods.

"The three Fates, I presume?" Gil asked, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin.

The one standing behind Roderich spoke up, their voice identifying them as the first voice from before. "Gilbert Beilschmidt…"

The one on Roderich's right spoke next. "The musician," they said in the voice belonging to the second one.

"What are you doing here?" The one on Roderich's left asked, the third voice coming from the expanse of the cowl.

"I am here to ask if there is absolutely no way for Roderich to be able to leave this mansion and return to the land of the living."

The third figure slowly shook its hooded head. "There is nothing," they stated. "We are sorry."

Gilbert nodded. "Then, I have come here to ask you to make me like him."  _That's your plan?_ He thought in amazement as the words left his mouth.  _Well, it's better than nothing…_

"No," Roderich said, his violet eyes narrowing and his pretty mouth turning into a frown. "Gilbert, you do not understand-"

The first figure cackled in amusement. "You do not know what you ask for," they said.

"It is not something to be desired, this state of being," said the second figure softly.

"To live forever but not really live," the third one spoke, their voice sorrowful.

Gil stood his ground. "I realize all that," he said stubbornly. "Believe me, I've thought about it all. I've gone through every possibility. I've thought about leaving this cursed town and never coming back. But I realized that I never could, seeing as my heart would be staying behind." He locked eyes with Roderich who was standing maybe only eight feet away. "I'm asking you to change me to be like him." Roderich's eyes grew wide with panic, his beautiful eyes filling with tears.

"Gilbert," he choked out. "I can't let you ask this. It's absurd. Don't think about me-"

"Give us a reason to grant you your request," the first Fate said sharply.

"If you can," the second one added in their quiet voice.

Gilbert opened his mouth, his brows furrowed. Hadn't he just given them reason enough? He loved Roderich and wanted to be with him. That's what it boiled down to, right? True love and all that…wait. True love? His mind suddenly flew back to two weeks before, the morning after they had arrived in Dis. He had gone to the police station and Ludwig had introduced him to that other guy, that Shinigami, Kiku. What had he said?

"Um…The day that man allows true love to appear…those things which are well made will fall into…um, confusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true…At least I think that's it?" The other four looked at him in silence. Gilbert coughed. "Well, what I think, is that…true love causes everything to fall into confusion – at least until you get that person for yourself. And that's how it is with me." He stared at Roderich evenly. "Until I have Roderich, until I can be with him, my world will forever be in confusion and darkness. He can restore everything again. I need him." He looked at the three Fates, each in turn. "So please. Grant me this request. Not only for myself, but also for Roderich."

The Fates looked at each other in silent conference. Gilbert looked back at Roderich who was staring at him with a pale face, his eyes filled with unshed tears. Gilbert was about to say something when the Fates spoke up again.

"We have decided to grant you your request," the second one said softly.

"We shall kill you," the first one cackled.

"And then we shall place you here, where you will be for all eternity," the third one finished, their voice soft and sad.

"No!" Roderich yelled, his eyes wide with panic. "Gilbert, no! Don't do this!" Gilbert ignored him as he nodded, standing taller.

"I agree," he stated firmly.  _Ah fuck, there's no going back._ The Fates raised their covered arms towards him and suddenly Gil felt his breath stop. He fell to the floor, the last thing he heard was Roderich screaming out his name.

xXx

Gilbert blinked open his eyes to find that he was standing somewhere very…white. It wasn't a harsh white, more soft and glowing, with a sort of cloud-like quality to it. The ground beneath him was white, the air was white, the sky was white. There were no walls where he was…That was a good question.

"Where am I?" He asked, to no one in particular.

"You are on the bridge between the world of the living and the world of the dead." Gilbert spun around to see three beautiful women standing behind him. They were dressed in long, white flowing dresses. The one who had spoken was the tallest one. She was well-endowed with short blonde hair, held back by a headband. The gentleness in her voice belonged to the voice of the third Fate.

"You aren't dead and you aren't alive right now." This voice came from the woman on the third Fate's right. She was petite, with shoulder-length straw coloured hair with a bow pinned to the side. Her big green eyes stared at him, the softness and meekness of her voice telling him that she was the second Fate.

"We could finish you off right now if you like." This last one came from the woman on the left side of the third Fate. She was only a bit shorter than the third one. She had beautiful long blonde hair with a bow on top of her head in a headband. The sharpness of her tone showed that she was the first Fate.

Gilbert was struck speechless for a bit, trying to reconcile the black-robed figures from before with the beautiful women before him. "Um…" he said as he got his bearings back. "I'd rather not?"

The second fate smiled at him warmly, her green eyes sad. "I am actually rather pleased you have chosen this path," she said quietly. "To be alone for eternity is not a pleasant thing." She glanced at the other Fates. "I have my sisters so I am content."

Gilbert cleared his throat awkwardly. "Actually," he said, the thought coming to him suddenly, "I have another favour to ask of you…" The three Fates frowned simultaneously, their eyes narrowing.  _Ah, right…they're basically deities…_ "I-If it's okay with you," he said, bowing his head a bit and averting his gaze.

"Go on," the third Fate said, her blue eyes curious.

"I-If you could make a way for my friends to be able to see us every once and a while, I'd really appreciate it…" He glanced at the Fates nervously. "I just know that they'll be worrying about me forever and I feel kind of bad."

The first Fate frowned, her cool blue eyes narrowing. "We shall be sealing the town so no one can get in again," she said brusquely. Gil felt his heart drop in disappointment.

"No one but those who have been there before," the second fate added quietly with a small smile.

"And we shall take the curse off of the mansion so anyone can see it," the third Fate concluded. "However, that is truly the extent of our abilities concerning you and Roderich Edelstein."

"We shall let the vampire and half-fairy know," the first one added as an afterthought. Gilbert opened his mouth to thank them but before they could, his world suddenly turned black again.

"Goodbye, Gilbert Beilschmidt…" The three sonorous voices resounded in the blackness.

xXx

Gilbert blinked open his eyes to find himself lying on the carpet of the music room with Roderich kneeling over him, weeping, his eyes squeezed shut behind the glasses. The light from outside proclaimed it to be about noon.  _I was dead for so long…_ Gil thought as he looked up at Roderich's tear-stained face. He smiled a bit and reached up, trailing his finger along a soft cheek.

Roderich's violet eyes flew open, a gasp coming from his mouth. He leapt to his feet, jumping backwards.

"G-Gilbert!" He cried. "I-I thought that you had died…" Gil sat up and rubbed his head shakily.

"I did," he said, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. "They killed me and then they stuck me here." He looked up at Roderich and grinned. "I'm just like you now."

Roderich stared at him, his eyes filled with panic. "No!" He cried, his eyes flooding with tears. Gilbert slowly stood, a frown crossing his face. "No! You idiot! How could you do this to yourself? I didn't want this! I never wanted you to do this for me!" Gilbert took a step towards Roderich, who took a step away. "Stupid!" He sobbed, trembling like a leaf. "Why would you do this for me?" This last trailed off in broken sobs as Roderich took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes in despair.

Gilbert sighed and stepped forwards quickly, grabbing Roderich's shoulders and gripping them tightly. "Why, you ask?" He growled, his face inches from Roderich's. He suddenly pressed his lips to Roderich's, hard. "Why?" He asked when they broke away. Roderich was staring up at him in part wonder and part sorrow.

Gil took his face in his hands tenderly, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "Because I love you, little Prince." He kissed him softly. "I love you," he whispered, trailing soft kisses down the musician's neck, making him gasp softly in surprise. He brought his lips back up to Roderich's, lightly brushing his lips with his tongue. Roderich moaned softly as he parted his lips.

"I love you," Gilbert murmured as he entwined their tongues together, wrapping his arms around Roderich, holding him tightly.

"I…don't deserve your love," Roderich panted as Gilbert kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his hair.

"I love you," Gilbert murmured, capturing his lips once again.  _And I won't ever have to let you go again,_ he thought. "Say it," he said quietly, gazing at the Austrian whose desire was reflected in his own red eyes. "Say it…"

Roderich slowly wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck, drawing him close and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you, Gilbert," he whispered against his lips, tears filling his violet eyes. "I love you."


	17. Epilogue: For Sixty Years or Eternity

Epilogue: For Sixty Years or Eternity

Matthew and Francis move to Mattie's apartment in Toronto where Matthew finishes his degree in French literature and Francis becomes the concierge at the Royal York Hotel. Matthew becomes a well-known professor in French literature and they both do very well for themselves in the city.

However, after about twenty years, Francis tells Matthew that it's time to move on as they haven't aged in two decades. So they move on to Paris, which was the first time Francis had been back to his home town since he was made into a vampire.

There they start life all over again, obtaining new identities and new lives.

Over and over again, the cycle repeats. Each life different and unique.

And sometimes, Matthew does think it gets long. He misses normal life, needing to eat, wanting to sleep. He realizes eternity is a very long time. He watches the world grow and change around him. He watches as the friends he makes age with each year while he stays the same. And it hurts. He sometimes feels as if he is merely an observer of the world, something unchanging in an ever altering place.

But he and Francis have each other, with the world and eternity at their feet.

xXx

Alfred brings Arthur with him to his small house in the countryside in Ohio. He finishes school and becomes a small town lawyer, his loud voice and opinionated ideas making him sought after in cases involving stolen cows and teenagers taking joy rides in tractors down the interstate, the only real problems to trouble their small town.

Arthur sets up his small clinic in the middle of the town where he has a quiet life and loyal patients. They both take the time to enjoy their calm life, although they will sometimes zip off to Toronto for a weekend to go visit Matthew and Francis. When Mattie and Francis move to Paris, Arthur and Alfred, both now facing their retirement, take the opportunity to go overseas and visit them, spending their savings on finally seeing the world together in their waning years.

And every full moon, Arthur is called to the Seelie Court. But Alfred holds him close as he changes, whispering words of love in his ear as he stares at those emerald eyes. Whoever once said that the eyes are the window to the soul spoke truly; for as long as Arthur's eyes stayed the same, he never once tried to kill Alfred.

And so he'd be called to the other dimension for a night, but he always returned to Alfred in the morning.

xXx

The Edelstein mansion is now clearly seen towering over the town of Dis. The town is only visible to those who were once trapped there but the mansion in no longer hidden from view. The town itself sinks slowly into disrepair, but the mansion remains immaculate, frozen in a time long past.

Gilbert and Roderich are occasionally visited by Alfred and Arthur and Francis and Mattie, who can now clearly see the mansion. Eventually though, as the long years slide past, Alfred and Arthur are no longer seen. Francis and Matthew will swing by every decade or so to see the two of them, but other than that, they are utterly alone together.

Gilbert never regrets his decision. Though the prospect of eternity spent confined in the mansion sometimes terrifies him, he knows that as long as he is trapped between life and death with Roderich, he could spend eternity anywhere.

And so Gil and Roderich spend their days loving each other and creating music, while their nights are spent wandering the silent mansion, trailing their fingers along the memories of yesterday.

**Fin**


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